


The State of War

by RedStockings



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: CIA, Captivity, Cerebro Abuse, Dream Manipulation, M/M, Male Slash, Mutant Powers, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStockings/pseuds/RedStockings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under the guidance of Sebastian Shaw the CIA Mutant Division has been hunting mutants for years. Erik Lensherr has been hunting Sebastian Shaw even longer. But now they both have a secret weapon when it comes to their searches, and that is Charles Xavier. </p><p>A captive of the CIA, Charles is slowly losing his mind within Cerebro, as he locates mutants around the world. His only hope of rescue lies with Erik, who he must protect from capture at all costs. By helping Erik on his road to revenge, Charles hopes that one day, Erik will come to realise seeing Charles in his dreams is not enough. </p><p>At the end of everything, Erik must decide if rescuing Charles is a risk he wants to take. </p><p> </p><p>Set in a Alternative Universe of 1962.</p><p>THIS FIC IS CURRENTLY ON HOLD</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic that was begun with fellow author: Kaseykc who worked very hard with me to write a story plan for this fic, unfortunately I seem to have lost my writing partner, so am progressing solo in a bid to let this fic see the light of day.

**Boy?**

The earliest memory he had, was of himself alone. All memories that followed after held one common denominator; he was always alone. Mother was always too busy with her own life to give more than a passing thought to what was going on in his. During his younger years, he’d been raised by a succession of others employed to look after him; whether any had actually cared for him was something he’d never been certain of. He’d clung to them like he would have clung to his mother had she ever permitted such behaviour; but none of them stayed long. He had always just been a boy to them; not a son, friend, brother… 

Not until **her**. 

Many of his earlier memories, before her, hadn’t been happy ones. After the death of his father, an event that Charles had been too young to naturally recall, his mother had abandoned him to seek solace elsewhere. He hadn’t understood at the time, but she must have been just as lost and confused as he’d been. Only she had the means to escape, and he’d simply been left to grow up with indifferent staff in the place of parents. It wasn’t until he was ten years old that his mother returned for longer than her obligatory short visits, which Charles had supposed were just to check he was still alive. With her she brought a new father for him; a man Charles had never seen before but, supposedly, was his ‘mother’s special friend’ whom she would marry. 

Perhaps he should have seen the warning signs; he was a smart boy after all, but he’d been too preoccupied with the prospect of having his mother home more often. It had been too long for him, too long since he’d seen his mother’s face with his own eyes for more than a week. It had been too long since he’d woken up to the presence of his mother in the household. His joy was careless and short-sighted. His mother liked his new stepfather, and there were no obvious signs of what was to come for him. 

It hadn’t been long after their honeymoon had ended and they’d returned to the mansion; his mother now Xavier-Marko, that his stepfather had begun to show his true colours. Whether his mother had known about her second husband’s sadistic and violent streak prior to their marriage, Charles had never dared to ask; he couldn’t comprehend, if she had, why she would permit the man into her home with her only child. But she played the dutiful wife well, took her husband’s side on every little disagreement, and politely looked away when his hand came down to strike Charles’ young, sad and hurt face.  

It never seemed to matter how many bruises marred his body, how many tears he cried and how much blood was spilt from his tender flesh, his mother was rarely sober enough to see or care. 

It was almost a year before he was no longer able to conceal his abilities from his stepfather. It was difficult; not letting things slip, not answering questions that were asked in the mind, and keeping things that were impossible for him to have known, a secret. He supposed that it was because of this that his mother had kept those who had looked after him in flux before they learnt of what made him different. But he wished his mother’s conscientiousness had extended to protect him from those within the family. Something he wished all the more after his stepfather’s reaction to his inexplicable abilities. One would think it be unwise to beat a child at all, let alone as severely as he’d been, for moving a salt shaker without the aid of touch. 

Several days later, his stepfather had decided that, whatever it was that Charles had done with the salt shaker, must be repeated within a ‘controlled environment’. Charles, being far too terrified of what this would entail, never attempted to move anything ever again without the aid of physical touch. Sometimes, when he was alone with little to occupy his mind, he would wonder whether or not he had unintentionally projected the idea of the salt shaker moving in order to frighten his stepfather. Maybe he had never moved it at all? 

Explaining this though would have only exposed his abilities all the more and so, as a result of fear, Charles chose to take the daily abuse, all the while hoping that someday something would happen which would save him from this barbarity. Throughout his time with Kurt Marko he trained himself to focus on both the world around him and that, which was going through his tormentors mind, an exercise in training his abilities. 

One thing he found out, during one of his many beatings, was that, somewhere in the world, Charles had a stepbrother. A boy, slightly older than himself, who was never mentioned and who, he suspected, his mother knew nothing of. 

Another time he discovered that Kurt Marko had once worked with Charles’ own father but, whenever he attempted to access the memories surrounding their work relationship, he was always stopped; mentally pushed out of his stepfather’s mind in a purely subconscious response. Over time Charles faced the realisation that he would likely never truly know how this beast of a man happened to arrive in his life. 

His mother, sick of the constant arguing between her son and her new husband, decided to send him away from the mansion and Charles was ever so glad for the escape. A boarding school overseas, in the middle of the beautiful countryside of Shropshire, England, became his home only a few years after Marko’s arrival into his life. 

Sweet little Raven, had been Charles’ saviour; in more ways than one. She saved him from a bleak, emotionally starved childhood, and she saved him from a lack of love and acceptance. Everything that she was confirmed for Charles that he wasn’t alone in the world, that there might be others out there like them both; hiding their gifts from the rest of humanity. 

He wondered if, like Raven, they were as lost and were wandering the world looking for their place within it. Looking for others like themselves, or simply a place to be safe and hidden away from the hate and fear that humanity was rife with.

He promised Raven, his sister in all but blood, that he would always protect her, always look out for her. And he promised himself that he’d do all that he could to protect others like them, so no mutant – a term he later learned applied to them – would ever have to live their lives in fear and feel like pariahs for simply being as natured intended them. 

 **Child?**  

Loosing your parent’s as a child is like losing the world. But to have them torn away from you, to see them herded through large iron gates like cattle not only left loss, but also anger and an unquenchable thirst for revenge. This need to strike out at the harsh world was baited by seeing fear and terror on his parent’s faces, the sense of his soul being destroyed as he watched them be degraded and stripped of their clothes and identity. Their captors had even shorn his mother’s head, cutting away her long hair, tearing away her beauty. He had screamed and cried for them, but the world just seemed to look on, and then look away. He had learnt that no matter what his parents might of meant to him, they were just one of many poor unfortunates to the world, at worse simply a reminder of a shameful secret chosen to be ignored. They were all just faces to be forgotten. 

But _he_ will never forget their faces, not until he dies. He will make the world remember, for every blood spilt, for every life taken, there must be retribution. He will avenge them, his parents, and his friends, everyone who was taken from him. The task must be his alone, because there was no one left to share the burden with. He was the only one he knew to survive.

Erik Lensherr had been born on the wrong side of a marching army. At least, it depended on your view of right and wrong, he was certainly a victim of persecution, unable to defend himself from his attackers. As the Nazi’s grew in power and swept through Germany with heavy steps, crushing everything in their way, Erik had cowered with his family, praying to be overlooked and forgotten, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the men in long dark coats looked their way. 

Erik’s mother had been a gentle woman, whose sole occupation in life was to protect her family. Most of Erik’s now grainy memories were of her scrubbing floors, her face lined and old before her time, skin tinted grey. Her hands always seemed to be callused and rough, sometimes the skin around her fingertips bled. His father had once owned a shop, but that had been taken from him now, and he was forced to earn money from whoever would employ him. Taking menial jobs back when they were still allowed to be free, with long hours, and hardly any reward. Erik barely remembered his father, except that when he was around them, his mother would turn her attentions from Erik to her husband. Erik’s first experience of what love was, that it could withstand even the darkest of circumstances. Love was the only thing in his life that he had been blessed with, and even that had been torn away from him.  

What he learnt of his powers within the Nazi concentration camps had not been brought to light by love. But by rage, so encompassing that he could not ever imagine it ending. Erik had seen no way out of the nightmare that was his life, and when he had been brought before the ‘doctor’, he had already been privy to the rumours of horrific experiments being carried out upon Jewish children. All the atrocities committed were being excused in the name of science and progression. Erik had known that he would never escape that room, nor the ‘doctor’s’ clutches, whose eyes gazed at him hungrily, and whose calm words only spoke of cruelty.  A spontaneous display of his mutant abilities had sealed Erik’s prolonged doom.

However when Erik had failed to produce his power upon demand, his mother’s life had been threatened before him. Still his powers seem to lay dormant, buried deep in his terrified mind, and his inability to be cooperative meant that she was shot dead. Erik had seen the fear in his mother’s eyes as she tried to reassure him. He had not wanted her to die that day. He had not wanted her to be worked to death either, digging holes behind the camp walls, starving until she could barely stand, and when finally unable to work anymore, thrown into one of those holes and buried still gasping for air. No matter what the outcome might have been on that day, when he had tried to move the coin across the desk, Erik could never have saved his parents from the death that had been facing them all. He had long ago forgiven himself for that day. But his anger had never lessened. 

Anger it seemed controlled his powers. Pulling forth his most painful memories, and turning them back upon the world outside allowed him to change what was around him. Bending metal to fit the world that he wanted to make. The feeling of changing the shape of something so solid and strong was something Erik could not describe, but it gave him short moments of comfort in a life that was filled with torment. He soon came to the realisation that he was not simply manipulating metal, but that he _was_ the metal. That when it moved, it was as natural as moving his arms and legs. The more he practiced, the more he could control, until using his powers became a part of his daily life. 

The Nazi doctor kept him busy, testing Erik against different types of metal. Some moved more easily, some required more concentration. He remembered living with a continuous headache, from spending all day emotionally exhausted. But even with his nose ran with blood, and his vision doubled, there had been no reprieve. He was pushed, and when he could no longer achieve what the doctor asked him for, new ways were found to make sure he did. Pain worked just as well as anger, which in turn fuelled Erik’s emotions. His most terrifying experience had been pushing the drill away, bending the metal backwards, so that the good doctor could not drill through the teeth in his screaming mouth.

On the day that the British discovered the camp, and the walls fell down, it was too late to save any scrap of the innocent boy that had first walked through the gates. His mother had been a long time cold in the ground, and Erik had never discovered what had happened to his father. He had been captive too long to have survived. But Erik had survived, beaten, changed and altered into something new and strong, he had seized his chance at escape. In doing so he lost track of his tormentors, and realised that when he was strong enough to go looking for them, he would have to search the globe. 

**Freak?**

She’d lost everything because she was different. A freak. Maybe that would never change, maybe only it was circumstances that ever altered. All she knew was, that the day **he** had offered her a place in the world, she had found a brother, united together through their differences. 

Her start in life had been troubled. Her birth had been particularly long, her mother struggling for hours, the labour lasting a whole day and then slipping into a second. The doctors had not known what had caused the complications, they had tried to intervene, but her mother had flatly refused a C-section whilst there was still a chance for a natural delivery. So when she had finally arrived in the world it was with shared relief of all involved. 

But her parents soon realised that something was strange with their baby daughter, a few days after bringing her home. Subsequent events resulted in Raven growing up in an orphanage, having frightened her parents beyond repair. This abandonment had signalled the start of her troubles. From the moment she had arrived the other children had treated her with fear, although she had never shown them her true face. They took their lead from the grown ups, who shunned Raven and cared for her at arms length. Her fellow playmates sensing something unusual about her, never strayed to close to her, and she found herself segregated from them all. 

It was at this time that she found she could not only change her form, but could take the shape of others also. A skill that had been cultivated by accident, when fear of being caught snooping in the confidential-file room had caused her to form-shift in panic. The door had opened, some words of apology had been said to her, and she had been left to continue in her search for information. A quick glance in the mirror told her that she had taken on the appearance of the orphanage manager, a woman who was of large stature with harsh features. The shock Raven felt at seeing her altered reflection was not as great as she might have expected it to be. It felt natural to be hiding in someone else’s skin, as if the power had just been lying dormant waiting to be found. With this new skill, she escaped the place in which she had been so unhappy, and went in search of answers. 

Raven too the records about her that had been kept by the hospital, and burnt them along with her past. Her family was still alive, but they did not want her. On the day that her skin began turning blue, her mother had rushed her into the hospital, convinced that Raven was dying. When no cause could be found, the doctors suggested oxygen therapy and repeatedly kept Raven in overnight to try different treatments. The records contained doctor’s theory diagnoses and tests that had been run. Eventually she had been discharged from their care, with nothing further to be done. It seemed that her family then tried other sources for help, and there was an entry in her files about her mother’s unstable mental health.

She had survived on her wits ever since. Young and afraid, she took the appearance of someone much older, and lived day by day. Eventually after travelling from house to house, stealing what she could to keep living, she had taken a wrong turn and ended up in what appeared to be some kind of country park. Neat lawns seemed to stretch for miles, and the wild trees became tame and planted in lines. The hunger in her stomach drove her onwards towards the hugest house she had ever seen, lights blazing from the odd window, casting a strange glow in the dusk. 

Raven had not sought anything beyond what was contained in the family’s fridge that night. But when she had been found, her usual trick did nothing to appease her accuser. Charles Xavier remained as self-assured throughout her time of knowing him, as he had been that very night. As young as he was, he had commanded the world around him. She had changed into her true self before him, and in return he had promised her all that she had ever wanted. Somewhere to belong. 

**Man?**

The world was his for the taking. It was soft and weak, filled with masses of small-minded people who seemed to exist for nothing. They had no purpose, other than to breathe in the air, greedily swallowing in what they had no right to and polluting it in their turn. But _he_ had a purpose. He had a vision and the nerves to fight for it. Not since Alexander the Great, who had seen the world as something for the taking, had there ever been a vision to rival his. There was no one who had even come close, because in all of history, there had never been another like him. He was the only one of his kind ready to bring the fight to the front, and remake the world.  

Sebastian Shaw had never met his equal, not in all the long years he had been alive. The decades that had passed him by had brought with them no one worthy of his attention. All his contemporaries had grown older and were dying, fading into nothing, having achieved nothing. Their names would be forgotten, their actions and their lives requiring no remembrance from the still living. But Shaw would not fade away; he would not die, not yet. He was the one the world had been waiting for, and the world would be putty in his hands, soft and moulding under his feet. He would take it, smash it into dust, and build it anew, stronger and better than before. But he would not make the world for the humans to grasp at, because this new world belonged to the mutants.

He’d put the inferior in their place. That was what made the world turn, how it had always been. The strong won, and the weak were crushed and stamped out. Humans had once been the dominant force, the top of the evolutional journey to greatness. Now, they were just an ugly blot on the progression of the species. Something to look back on with wonder, and contemplate how primitive life once was. The world had been carrying the weaker beings for too long, and now it showed. Something needed to be done to address the balance. 

There should not have been such a divide as mutants and humans, since humans were not even supposed to exist. Mutants had evolved and had left their human cousins in the dust, grubbing around like the beasts they were, fighting over scraps and cowering behind guns and machines. Mutants had evolved their own weapons; they did not need to attach machines to themselves. They _were_ the weapons. The world bent and shaped itself to their needs. Elements bowing to superiority, finally tamed. Everything theirs to control.

All of this, Shaw had known from the moment he could see past himself, and look out at the world. By 1944, Shaw had found a very interesting group of humans, who were busy culling their neighbours at an extraordinary rate in order to create a ‘pure race.’ Their motives were something that Shaw did not even condescend to try and understand. But he still found himself swept up in the crowd, a bystander to the atrocities committed by humans towards their own kind. He watched, amused by the clear evidence all around him to what he had always felt to be true. The human race had reached its end. But not content to walk slowly towards its demise, it was pushing the undefended members of its patchwork society into early graves. 

Shaw watched the people being herded through the Nazi camps with detached distain. It happened every day, all day. He heard the same wailing and crying, the same pleas, and saw the same horror etched on every captive’s face. After a while he forgot to recognise the noise as crying, as the look in their eyes as pleading. His grew immune to screaming, pain surrounding him and becoming normal. They would probably all die, every one that was dragged off of the trains that had brought them here, to the dull grey place.  He looked on, untouched by the suffering all around him. Why did they not just accept their fate? Why did they always try to fight? Hands reaching out to hold one another, desperate to keep together. But what did it matter how many were killed here in this Godforsaken place? These humans were just making life easier for him. Because all humans would die eventually.  At his hands. 

However humans had gotten a few things right in their bumbling history through time. There were some things about the world they had created that Shaw enjoyed. He wondered, that for the first few generations, whilst mutants cultivated their powers, it would serve them well to enslave some humans for the menial tasks in life. The ones who were useful could remain, until mutants found their footing in the established order. But until then, Shaw was determined to enjoy the best things in life. He’d have the most beautiful women, the fastest cars, the best cut suits, the best gourmet dinners. He’d stay in the world’s best hotels, and travel in private jets. He would surround himself with fellow mutants, and he would begin on a path of destruction, turning human against human, the like of which the world had never seen.

 


	2. Macabre Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the story begins...

It was a dark day, dull and greying in the skies overhead, the surface of the pathways and roads frozen and the wind bit into the passerby. Sharp, contrasting, steel structures reached up into the air, towering over the streets below like over-bearing, imposing figures of silent menace. As the night’s darkness arrived ahead of its seasonal schedule, the lights of the hotel became brighter, whispering a welcome with their opulence and brightness. It was a welcoming sight in the rapidly increasing darkness.

But it was not welcoming enough to distract the dozens of passerby’s on the pavement who hurried about their routines, their steps quicker and harried by the increasing chill, with their heads bowed down for protection against the sharp bite of the wind. Mothers with children, families heading home, parents laden with shopping bags full of gifts, never ceased in their relentless journeys to their intended destination.

A dark saloon car midnight black, with silver-rims and blazing, cold headlights, glided along the tarmac road toward the hotel. A Mercedes-Benz C63 AMG, with tinted windows and vinyl finish, seemed out of place as it moved towards the hotel. The hotel itself was a rarity in this part of the city, and the Mercedes-Benz C63 AMG was far too extravagant for a regular patron, more befitting for a high-end political figure needing protection. No one recognised how the car had been fitted with such protective measures so as to include; bullet-proof windows, and re-inflating tyres. It was simply a black car to the untrained unobservant eye.

As the car slowed to a stop, the engine cut after a few seconds, and received a few momentary glances from the pedestrians on the pavement who had noticed its arrival. It wasn’t unusual for cars to stop outside the hotel, even at such a time as this. It was expected even, for certain people. Who wanted to walk in such weather?

On the opposite side of the road, about twenty-feet from the Mercedes, a young man walked casually down the street, not looking behind him until he’d safely crossed the road. A quick glimpse at the Mercedes, gave him its exact position and he stored it in his memory. The young man continued walking until he reached a small alcove to the side of the hotel. He slipped inside, his form hidden in the half-light that barely poured through the alcove, but his eyes picked out the Mercedes that he could see in front of him. He could see the car, but whoever was in the car couldn’t see him.

He seemed unassuming, unimportant, and rather shoddy in appearance; even if he had dressed ‘up’ for the occasion, but he was more focused on the task at hand rather than his appearance. His sharp eyes picked out a small cafe on the opposite side of the road, most of the patrons inside to escape the increasing chill, and Jason Wyngarde found himself pitying them. They had no idea what was about to happen. Soon enough, Jason knew, those innocent, unaware, patrons would be screaming, in fear, in shock, in horrid realisation; and a part of Jason wished he did not have to do this, but he wouldn’t pass-up a chance to use his abilities unhindered. He was quite desperate in that respect.

The tips of his fingers felt like they had a current passing through them, little static shocks made the muscles in his arms spasm in response. His blood raced through his body, pounding through the veins and arteries as his heart pumped harder and faster in anticipation. Jason sighed in relief, his mind, in contrast to his body’s responses, perfectly calm and collected. He’d missed this feeling. This feeling that sometimes felt akin to drinking eight double espresso’s in quick succession, or having a stimulant injected directly into his veins, and he couldn’t help the smile that graced his face; making him appear younger and more carefree than he actually was.

Taking a deep breath, Jason slowly flexed the fingers of his right hand, and raised the slightly trembling appendage up close and brushed the dark bangs out of his face. He rested the pads of his fingertips on his temple and watched in silence as a large, beefy man stepped out of the Mercedes’ front passenger side and shut the door behind him. The man wore a suit, pressed charcoal grey, with a nondescript black tie, and Jason watched as the man stepped onto the pavement and opened the door to the rear of the car.

Jason blinked feverently as his posture stiffened and his mind shot into action. Now it was time for him to start his task.

Quickly counting the number of people on the street, the darkness now strong enough to have warned most of the pedestrians off the streets and into the safety of their homes, Jason found himself only having to focus on no more than half-a-dozen minds; all of them undefended and pliable. He would have been disgusted with the lack of mental protection they possessed if he didn’t rely on that very fact to complete his mission. Though he couldn’t read their minds, he could certainly get a jist of what they’re wondering. It was clear on their faces anyway, how quickly could they get home? It took little of his abilities to manipulate the world as they saw it until everything was as he required it, his presence in the alcove all but forgotten – even if he was already well-hidden, now he doesn’t exist – and watched as the only part of the illusion he hasn’t yet manipulated stepped out of the Mercedes onto the pavement.

A short, slight, man with greying temples and a freshly shaven face looked about himself for a brief moment as his bodyguard shut the car door firmly. The suit the man was wearing was expensive, probably Armani, or specially tailored, with velvet lapels and ivory white lining surrounding the lapels. Jason found himself amused by the appearance of the Senator, the man always took pride in his sharp appearance, but he had gazed into his last mirror today. Today was the day that the world would watch the Senator die and Jason couldn’t help feel the excitement of the situation as he set to work on crafting his illusion.

The gazes of the Senator, his bodyguard, and two of the few pedestrians on the street, were suddenly riveted to the sight of a dishevelled, and conspicuous-looking man who was now running towards them on the pavement. The man pulled something out of his pocket, the light of the hotel reflecting off its cold, black, metallic exterior accompanied by astonished gasps of shock and fear from people on the street. The Browning L9A1 in the man’s hand was cocked and held in a firm grasp, as the man’s eyes never deviated from his target.

The Senator’s own eyes widened in fear, realisation and the horrid understanding that his bodyguard wasn’t going to be quick enough. He knew he was going to die then-and-there.

And then the man pulled the trigger. Once. Twice.

Twin bullets flew from the gun and slammed into the Senator torso, the force behind the bullets sending him careening into the car hard enough for his head to slam against the roof. His mouth opened in a silent cry of pain and horror as the blood streamed down from two twin blots on his white, pressed shirt. There was pain, but it was muted, his nerves numbed and his body sluggish.

His mind was discombobulated, thoughts congealing and slowing. The Senator’s gaze found its way to his bodyguard, who was moving too slowly to truly be of any assistance; his gun stuck in the holster, as he finally realised that the gunman was indeed going to kill him. And, as if to reinforce the Senator’s realisation, the gunman pointed his gun directly between the Senator’s eyes; his gaze crazed and filled with mad determination, as he pulled the trigger and a single bullet was ejected. That single bullet slammed into the Senator’s forehead and ploughed through the hard skull, the soft brain tissue, and out the back of the cranium before impacting with the car behind him. It left behind a small, barely bleeding hole in the front and a giant crevice in the back.

The gunman stood over the corpse of the Senator, panting heavily, a look of satisfaction crossing his features before the bodyguard, who had finally dragged his gun from its holster, fired two shots; one hitting just below the ribcage and the other ploughing through the jacket and thin t-shirt material and straight into the gunman’s rapidly beating heart.

There was screaming up and down the street; disbelieving cries, shocked and terrified shouts and outraged roars at the violence. Jason could feel every last one of them echoing in his head. There was such fear and he felt guilty and sick with himself for having involved these people, these poor unassuming people, and the blood... The blood of the Senator felt like it was his own; bubbling in his mouth and pouring out of his chest. It was horrid for him, truly horrific for those watching, but they weren’t the ones who felt like they’d died twice afterall.

Police squad cars began to arrive; a measly two minutes after the incident had began, their sirens blaring and creating a cacophony of sound mingling with the crying witnesses. The bodyguard stood in between the bodies; one the person he was meant to protect, the other the one he was meant to stop at all costs.

Jason sighed, his eyesight never wavering from the scene before him, and he could see it all from every angle; from the opposite road, from the cafe, from inside the hotel, from the bodyguard. Everywhere there were people, there was Jason.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, playing with their perceptions, but eventually Jason became aware of someone standing beside him; one whose mind he could not manipulate. A wall of silence in the midst of chaos. For a long moment, maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours, the man stood beside Jason; observing the scene with silent impassiveness until he reached out and placed a gentle hand on Jason’s tense arm. A gentle but firm grip.

“That’s enough Jason,” the man said quietly, his words carrying no further than Jason’s own ears. “It’s over.”

And then Jason felt the adrenaline disappearing, fading away into oblivion as calm returned to him. It was over. It. Was. Over... and he didn’t know when he’d have another opportunity to use his abilities again; to flex his powers and feel other minds that weren’t blocked to him. He didn’t have the freedom he’d once had with his powers, not anymore, and now he was just a puppet. Held up by the strings of those who could and would decide what he could and would do with his own power. And it was hard. So very hard to remember that he wasn’t the only one whom he had to think about.

The Senator had never done anything remotely devious; hadn’t had a prostitute who he played with on the side, he’d never backed down against the monster politicians who wanted to make it legal to prosecute innocent people based on race, colour, nation. Instead he’d had a wife to whom he had been faithful to since they’d married, a wife he absolutely adored and would give the world for. He had children who were brilliant and kind and never felt unloved, even with his busy schedule. He was a brilliant man who didn’t deserve to be so cruelly removed from the world. But just because he didn’t deserve it didn’t mean he would be allowed to live.

Jason had learnt quickly that the world wasn’t fair, that people didn’t always get what they deserved and so, for the Senator, life had decided to give him something he didn’t deserve. Just like it had Jason, and millions of others around the globe.

Senator Michaels had had to die. The Senator had been lobbying for better Animal Rights; for laws prohibiting how animals were used in science and it was the type of law that would have changed things for mutants like Jason. Mutants who were considered to look human but not be human, currently had the same rights as the monkeys that the scientists tested poisons and toxins upon. Human Rights Laws didn’t apply to mutant kind; afterall, mutants weren’t human. They were animals with skills that could be trained to jump through hoops at their master’s demand. No. They weren’t human and it was this, this loophole – like so many others – that enabled governments to take mutants from their homes and enslave them for their own purpose.

And Jason hated every single moment of it.

 

 **-O-o-O-**

 **-o-o-O-o-o-**

 **-O-o-O-**

 

Raven’s eyes snapped open as she let out a startled gasp. The amber of her eyes flashed with panic and pain as she gripped her head tightly with her blue, scaled hands and screamed. Lying curled up on her side, clutching her head in agony, Raven sensed the people moving around her; reaching out and grabbing her, forcing her to uncurl and lie flat. Instinct drove her to fight them, her arms and legs flailing as her eyes darted about, not seeing what was around her, and she could taste blood in her mouth; a sharp, coppery tang that made her want to gag as she let out another cry of pain and fear.

“Raven!” Someone shouted, their voice familiar, but she couldn’t focus, couldn’t process what was going on. “Raven stop! It’s over!” They were still screaming at her and she tried to focus, tried to listen to the words and understand what they meant. “You’re going home Raven!”

Home... home...

Raven’s mind latched onto the word, shocking her into pausing in her struggles, as she realised what that word meant. Home. And then it all came back to her. The hotel, the bodyguard, the gunman, the pain, blood. Death. Dimly Raven was aware of the twin sets of hands lowering her down and someone placing a needle into the crook of her elbow.

She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dying. And _she_ hadn’t died. It was hard for her to realise that fact because it always felt so very real. Something she’d never get over. That, and the fear. The fear of seeing someone about to kill you, the fear of the pain you knew was about the come and the fear of dying. It was never easy and it never did get any easier.

No matter how many times she told herself, whispered words of comfort and encouragement to herself when no-one could hear her, it was never easy to take on another’s appearance and stand there in their stead; ready to die. And the fear that she showed to others was never fake. It was all real.

Not bothering to look to her sides, Raven chose to stare up at the roof of the ambulance. She blinked slowly as her mind processed where she was and whom she was with. She was back in the hands of the CIA; the Central Intelligence Agency. The two people who had tried to make her lie flat only moments ago weren’t medical attendants but rather elite members of the CIA. Some of their best agents. Assigned to her since the day she’d first been ‘recruited’ for their Mutant Division as her ‘handlers’. And she liked them no more today than she had six years ago. She guessed the feeling was mutual really.

“You did well Raven,” one of them said. Raven didn’t bother to respond or even acknowledge the agent beyond blinking slowly. “Compliance is always rewarded,” she continued, and Raven bit back the urge to lash out because damn it, they knew the only reason she agreed to work for them wasn’t for her sake. And everytime she agreed to play the part, they hung it over her head and teased her with the ‘reward’ that shouldn’t even be a bloody bargaining chip in the first place!

It made her feel sick, not only because they made her jump through hoops, but because she’d had to lie to people who had known the Senator for months. Months where she’d experienced every type of luxury and hadn’t seen the only thing that truly kept her going. And she figured it would be a long drive ‘home’ so she decided to spend the majority of the time drifting in and out of sleep; letting herself become reacquainted with her own natural form. The Senator had been dead for a long time and Raven had dutifully stolen his face and had slowly undone all of his work; all the hours he’d spent working on his speeches and arguments for Animal Rights, she’d slowly whittled away and let them crumble to dust. She’d told lies to his wife, told his children she loved them in the stead of the man who really had loved them. And she’d done it all because she’d been told to.

And because she was well aware of the consequences of refusing.

Charles would never tell her, but she knew that every time she’d refused in the beginning he’d suffered; they’d hinted as much to her. Raven had quickly realised that, if she wanted Charles to be cared for properly, then she’d have to bite her tongue and do as they ‘ordered’. Only a few months after she’d begun doing as they’d bid they had given her a ‘reward’; time with her brother away from prying eyes and she had craved it ever since.

And she was being given a reward now, a reward which she decided then and there that she’d use to take Charles out for a little while to see beyond their cells and the white-washed walls of the facility. Yes, he’d like that, and for a few hours they could pretend they were normal; that she wasn’t a freak who’s skin was more valuable than her mind and he could pretend that he wasn’t responsible for this mess.

Though she would never say it aloud, or even think it loud, Raven felt like their torturous existence was her brother’s fault. Charles’ obsession with trusting people, even after he’d figured out who and what they were after, and his thirst for knowledge had caused this and Raven would be lying if she said that she didn’t blame him at least a little for it.

She could recall clearly the face of the man who’d come to England, looking for Charles, six years ago and she could remember how; as a recent recipient of his degree in Genetics and Cellular Biology – and Biotechnology – Charles had been celebrating in the local pub. At the age of twenty-one he’d been one of the youngest to graduate from Oxford with such brilliant grade and Raven had been happy to have followed him across the Atlantic. She’d had no real intention, no plans nor goals that she wanted to achieve and she’d felt like Charles had had more than enough ambition for the pair of them.

Even when they’d been kids, Raven had noticed Charles’ obsession with genetics and she knew that, when he’d attended Oxford, he’d had the option to complete his degree earlier than his classmates; but he hadn’t wanted to rush. His reason; he wanted them to be involved in everything that others went through, and he always picked up extra classes whenever he could – most of them on subjects that Raven had no wish to ever understand. Or write a thesis about.

He’d always said University was an ‘experience’ and not one they should miss. And now, Raven was glad he’d savoured every moment of it.

Raven sometimes wished that she’d made him change his mind, convinced her brother that the stranger was not what he seemed, but it was pointless wishing to change something that had already happened. They’d made their bed, now they had to lie in it. Charles had taken the strangers’ offer to join him in America; to work with the CIA and to study mutants.

And now, all Raven had left of another life was a certificate; something she kept hidden away and safe. It read;

 

 **_“Charles F. Xavier_ **

**_First Class Honours”_ **

 

The stranger had been called Shaw, Sebastian Shaw, and after he had mentioned a device called “Cerebro” to her brother, Raven knew that Charles hadn’t been able to resist the pull of such a device. She’d tried, oh how she’d tried, to convince him to finish his studies in Oxford; she’d even used all of his arguments about education and ‘life experiences’ but he wouldn’t budge. Stubborn as an Ox.

He’d left for America and Raven had followed because she’d had no choice; Charles was her brother and she loved him dearly, and he was the only person who was never revolted by her true form. She couldn’t just abandon him.

Six years ago Raven had known very little, probably no more than Charles really, and now she knew more; but still, there were some things that she didn’t know and couldn’t figure out their purposes. She didn’t know the reason why Charles had been chosen, she didn’t know how Charles had been found, and she didn’t know why this Shaw had been so interested in her brother.

But Jason Wyngarde had helped her to fit a few of the puzzle pieces together. And what she could see so far wasn’t something she liked.

Jason had explained to her, about six months after her and Charles had arrived at the Facility, that he was an illusionist – and not a cheap, Vegas side-show act either. He’d been approached by Shaw two years before them and he’d agreed to help Shaw study mutants and their abilities; but he hadn’t agreed to the ‘CIA’ part of the deal. At first anyway.

Eventually Shaw had convinced him to join the Mutant Division and, like Charles and Raven, he’d had absolutely no idea what he was really signing up for. For a while he’d co-operated, and found that he was enjoying it, but eventually something had happened – something he wouldn’t explain to Raven – that had made him realise that he was being used like a particularly effective guard dog and he’d tried to leave. Tried... and failed.

He didn’t know how they did it, didn’t know why they really wanted him alive – other than his power – and he had explained to Raven that they had devices that blocked his ability. Stopped him from messing with their heads.

Raven had asked him how he’d been found and Jason had replied that Shaw had a girl, a naive and willing young girl, who had located him. Something he, himself, had only figured out after he’d met the girl a year after agreeing to his ‘contract’ with the CIA. She’d done everything she could to please Shaw, going so far as to kill just to make Shaw happy, and so Shaw had loved her; loved how he could manipulate her and bend her to his will.

Jason, by comparison, wasn’t as willing or naive and so had been less useful to the man. And that was how Jason had ended up working with Raven – and sometimes Charles – on missions; Shaw had traded him in for better company.

Raven guessed that this girl, now a woman after all that time, was how Shaw had found her and Charles. And that answered one question.

Cerebro was another thing entirely though. Charles had been fascinated by the machine and, after he’d attached himself to it – with no regard for his own safety like the genius idiot he was – Raven had never seen Shaw again. Cerebro had activated for Charles, working beautifully and spitting out co-ordinate after co-ordinate of mutants, and Charles had loved every second of it.

Shaw too had loved it, but for a different reason. He didn’t care for discovery or understanding. He wanted power and control, and what better way to ensure he had both than to have a telepath searching out powerful mutants for him to take command of?

Shaw had faded away from the front-line, no longer searching for mutants himself, but rather using Charles to search them out and sending out his lackeys to ‘collect’ his prizes. His pocket mind-reader had followed him, dutifully and innocently naive, and Raven, Jason and Charles had been left in the hands of the Mutant Division. Nothing more than tools.

Cerebro was complicated. Just like everything else really. And, though Raven was curious about why it was so important, Jason disliked speaking of it; indeed he refused to go near the thing. Going so far as to fight against his ‘handlers’ after they’d suggested he take another go in it. He’d been put in solitary for a month and Raven had had to hold him for weeks afterwards because he couldn’t bear to be alone.

One of the few times Jason volunteered information about Cerebro, he’d explained how, on his first go in it, he’d felt like his skull had been cracking in two and, after getting out of it, had been left with feelings of intense paranoia for days. And burn marks on his temples.

From listening in on reports given by some of the other agents at the Facility, Raven had eventually discovered that Cerebro had been built by a teenager; just fifteen. Fresh out of Harvard. A genius.

Raven had guessed that that teenager was Hank, the young scientist who was still the only operator of Cerebro after six years. Out of all of the agents and members of the CIA, Raven had realised that Hank was the only one who spent time with Charles; and didn’t seem weary, disgusted or hateful of him.

Jason had mentioned to her, once about three years ago, that he had some suspicions that Hank wasn’t as ‘straight-down-the-line’ as he appeared, and that the man always seemed uncomfortable when discussions about ‘neutralising a mutant threat’ ever came up.

It was around this time that Raven had slowly realised that Charles wasn’t as willing an accomplice of the CIA as she’d first thought. Indeed, she realised that her brother wasn’t being controlled by Cerebro but rather, it was the other way around. His manipulation of Cerebro was alarming.

 


	3. Belief in Supremacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super big thank you to Clawfoot Tub, who has beta read this chapter and very kindly helped me to edit. Any errors remaining belong to me after I started re-tinkering with the chapter again.
> 
> Here we take a look at Shaw’s background, and how his life has affected others. Hope you enjoy :)

Shaw was a powerful mutant; he’d always been in a league of his own. No one had ever come close to having power, not like he had. At least, not until now, but the world was changing whether he like it or not. Shaw possessed the mutation that allowed him to absorb energy, any kind, and control it. Shaw’s mutation allowed him to take that energy and transform it into power, allowing him to throw it back at his attackers. Energy fuelled him, it kept him alive, and his whole being was made from it. It restored his body and delayed his aging. His blood flowed differently to others’, filled with potential.

Currently Shaw resided in New York, where he was the head of an organisation, formed through years of dedicated painstaking work. The members where mutants, collected over the years for powers that Shaw found useful and had a need for. Shaw called this the Hellfire Club. It was a secret society whose main purpose was to advance them all towards world domination and mutant supremacy. But as far as the world at large was concerned, Sebastian Shaw was a legitimate human businessman, who had built up his fortune over the years until he was counted as one of the wealthiest men in the world.

Life at the moment was easy. He was finally in control of his own destiny, and had the means to bring his plans into reality and see the fruits of his hard work and sacrifices he had made. He was at last living the life that he had wanted for so long, that had been promised to him when he had been given more than his fair share of blessings, and it could only get better. But it hadn’t always been this way; Shaw hadn’t been born with any wealth, but had progressed through sheer determination and steady nerves.He had been involved in things he had not cared for, or agreed with, and had eventually forgot to care about anything other than himself.

Back in the year of 1920, Shaw had started to become of interest to a small organisation of people. As they trailed him, following his every move, Shaw watched them back. It intrigued him to find himself so worthy of their interest, thinking they were simply tailing him for some petty crimes. But his own arrogance duped him, and when they had come for him, they had come quietly. They had been studying him for a weakness, and after five years of thinking he had the upper hand, they had pulled him into their carefully woven trap. 

The men had been following Shaw for a long time, having realising what he was, after putting out feelers about human mutations. In the end Shaw knew there was no use in fighting them, if he killed them, more would only take their place. They had not used guns, or weapons against him. They were clever and had done their research well. They’d drugged him, and he’d never seen it coming. It would take just over another twenty years for the government to become very concerned about their findings, but from their paranoia, the fledgling organisation grew to call themselves the Central Intelligence Agency.    

At first they were just interested in testing him, Shaw was never completely certain what their overall aim was. They fired all kinds of ‘energy’ towards him, making him stand in sealed rooms as they trigged explosives. They repeatedly fired electricity towards him, his body absorbing it with painful shuddering at first, until he became accustomed, and able to withstand more. It soon came to a point where Shaw felt he could have powered all of New York City. The tests were always controlled, always on their terms. Shaw allowed himself to be held captive because it occurred to him that he could use this situation to his advantage.

At this point in his life he was sure he couldn’t be the only mutant in the world, but he had been at a loss as to how to find them or what to do with them once he had. If there were mutants in the world like him, then they were very good at hiding. And with good reason, if the government were hunting them for unknown purposes, promising nothing in return but transparent slavery. 

 **-O-o-O-**

 **-o-o-O-o-o-**

 **-O-o-O-**

Shaw gazed out of the window. It was a dull grey day, clouds gathering overhead with threatening rain. They were high up, the people on the pavement below faraway and inconsequential; Shaw looked down on them all with indifference. They had come to New York so Shaw could check in with the boy telepath and see his progress. He had not actually seen the boy; Shaw had no desire to come face to face with the young man again and the process of Cerebro unnerved him. 

“The boy grows powerful, more so than I could have imagined,” Shaw mused; his gaze flickered on the reflection in the glass. The blonde woman whosat behind him stiffened slightly in her chair.  “You do not approve **,** Emma?” he taunted. 

“He isn’t a boy anymore,” she replied icily, refusing to meet her boss’ reflected gaze. She hated this kind of talk, and she knew that Shaw only brought up the subject of the other telepath to make her uncomfortable. “He has been there so long.” 

 **-O-o-O-**

 **-o-o-O-o-o-**

 **-O-o-O-**

The fledgling CIA began to do what had only ever been a dream for Shaw: tracking, tagging and using mutants around the globe. Shaw knew that it would have taken him many decades of aimless searching before his luck might have given him clues to a single mutant. Here all he need do was play along and the mutants were being gather for him. The government operatives had managed to track down a surprisingly high number of potential suspects. These humans they supposed to be mutants were not always that powerful, but occasionally they found someone useful. It was at this time that Shaw began to establish his Hellfire Club, by recruiting the mutants from behind their prison walls. It was all so easy. The mutants fell into his hands, and he offered them all a way out. Of course they would never again be free, but a prison without walls was always a better option.

Shaw bided his time, completing years and years of tests, agreeing to everything the CIA demanded of him, knowing that whatever information he gave away was only going to aide him in the future. But as far as Shaw was concerned, the government’s methods of testing mutant powers were slow in producing results. They liked to use the soft approach, working with the mutants, developing programs with them, which slowly expanded their powers in a safe and steady way. Never pushing them too hard or demanding too much. Being a model pupil of theirs, Shaw managed to convince his handlers to allow him to take more responsibility in the testing facility, and assume some responsibility for the project.They had no reason to be suspicious of him, and it was during these years Shaw realised he had a better idea of how to produce results. 

After finally being given the permission to look through the mutant files, Shaw found what he had suspected to find, that the CIA’s method of tracking mutants was inefficienteven if it did go outside of the law. What they had available to them was a good start: birth records, blood tests, medical reports, unusual histories and criminal records. The CIA began to rely on Shaw’s ideas and his intuition, he had co-operated since day one, being always helpful and willing. He was usually right when it came to following a lead, and could sift through the evidence for a mutant detection faster than most. 

By approximately late 1930, Shaw had gotten bored of waiting and behaving. He had found enough mutants valuable enough to liberate, whist having enough of them to leave behind to cover his tracks.Not only had he grown impatient of waiting, but he was now so far involved in the programme that he had the power to start deleting himself from the files, ensuring that all new members of the new CIA mutant division viewed him only as a human and simply an agent himself. Shaw was now high ranking, with unprecedented top-secret clearance and there was no evidence to speak of the contrary. No one could remember a time when Shaw had not been in control. 

Those who remained, knowing that he was a mutant, found that they met their mortal ends prematurely. Accidents occurred with some frequency, but never with suspicion, and eventually all of Shaw’s past tracks were covered. The ladder he had climbed up had been kicked down. Any one else who remained, and proved to be a mutant sympathiser was pensioned off, or transferred out of the department, whether they agreed or not. Ultimately Shaw disappeared into the system, and emerged as something new above and beyond it. Everything was now under his control. It did not matter to Shaw who was left behind in the system, as when his plans were finally unveiled, no mutant would ever be imprisoned again. He didn’t care if a few low level mutants were lost along the way. Every war had causalities; that was just the way things had to be. 

It did not take long to convince the new CIA recruits that their methods of testing mutants were outdated. They were all young, keen and blood thirsty. They did not view mutants as valuable members of society as their predecessors had, and did not take the time to get to know their prisoners. Shaw then developed his own branch of the division, which tested through harder means, yielding faster and better results. He needed strong powerful mutants on his team, ones who hated the humans for the prolonged torture they had suffered at their hands. The harsh CIA agents made perfect targets for their hatred, and the confinement of their living made them hungry to take back control. After a few more years, Shaw broke away from the front line, and took the best of the mutants with him. It was the second beginning of his Hellfire Club, this time outside of government control. 

- **O-o-O-**

 **-o-o-O-o-o-**

 **-O-o-O-**

“Has he contacted you?” Shaw asked as he turned to face Emma, his smile not at all friendly and his eyes told her to be weary of a trap. “Have you heard him?”

Emma didn’t reply.

“I suppose you would not tell me either way,” Shaw decided, his smile remaining where it was, fixed determinedly to his face.

“He has never touched my mind,” Emma replied at length, and only from fear of angering the man before her. “I could keep him out, if I chose, but as far as I am aware, Xavier has never looked for me... although I have felt him in the minds of others, from time to time.”

At this, Shaw looked intrigued, and then he hid his interest behind an unconcerned yet all-knowing face. He took a seat in front of her, and reached for his paper. The concern Emma felt over Xavier had been discovered long ago; her face was always betraying her torment at his situation, however hard she tried to hide it. Bringing the topic up kept her in emotional turmoil. Keeping Emma’s spirit crushedwas easy when she did most of the work for him, believing herself to be a bad person just for being free.   ****

“I can just imagine what he will say when he finally does find you Miss Frost, surely you cannot think he will forgive you,” Shaw said cruelly, his smile turning to a crooked smirk.

Emma didn’t lift her eyes. She lived in constant dread that one day she would lapse in her efforts to conceal herself from Charles Xavier, and that one day he would find her. She didn’t think she could bear to feel what he felt, or learn of the horrors he had to face alone. She would keep running to the end of the world in order not to have to face him, and ultimately, face herself. Shaw’s spiteful words told her that he had always known how guilty she felt.

 **-O-o-O-**

 **-o-o-O-o-o-**

 **-O-o-O-**

 

Shaw changed his alias once more and disappeared into history for some years, busy living out his new freedom, whilst continuing to keep one eye on the CIA. By the time the world decided to go to war again, Shaw was already travelling to Germany to partake in the greatest revolution the world had ever seen. It did not matter whether he agreed with what was happening there, or whether he found it repulsive. His agenda did not need the world around him to be acting sane. It could all go to hell in flames as far he cared. He was looking for something else, someone powerful, someone worthy. There was no better place to try and find them than in amongst all that pain and suffering. The sure fire catalyst for many a power emerging. He had seen it time and time again, back at the mutant CIA camp. Hurt people enough and they eventually showed you their true selves. Their real powers. No one could hide whilst they screamed. No one could pretend, as they were ripped apart.

The year was now 1944. He had taken the identity of a doctor; his cover was that he was conducting experiments upon Jewish children who were fed through the Nazi camps. Science had a lot to answer for in the history of cruelty. Having perfected his mutant torture skills overseas with the obliging CIA, he had no qualms in applying them here. But finding Erik Lensherr had been a lucky event, the kind that only occurs from being in the right place at the right time. Who would have through that such potential power was contained in such a pathetic looking boy? A boy who had the ability to crush a metal fence, but crumbled in front of him, unable to lift his eyes from the floor.

The boy was malnourished, and frail, but in his eyes there was steel. Testing Erik was something that quickly became an obsession. Shaw wanted to watch his progression personally. He knew immediately that Erik was something special; Shaw had never before met Erik’s equal, nor felt so much excitement at a fellow mutant. The strength of Erik’s power even rivalled Shaw’s at times, and by pushing him relentlessly, Erik was able to achieve extraordinary things. Shaw found he was even able to bear the relentless screaming, hour after hour in order to watch what the boy could do. The sound, which had always been irritating in the past, now seemed to accompany greatness. ****

Shaw knew that if he could just crush a little bit more of Erik’s spirit, if he could dull some of that sharpness in his eyes and turn his anger on the Nazis, blame them for all the pain he had suffered, then Shaw could hope to keep controlling him. To make himself an ally to this child, and guide Erik’s mind around to his way of thinking. But time was not with him, and Shaw eventually lost Erik to the chaos of freedom. The camp was liberated eight months after Erik had been first brought there, and Shaw was forced to make a choice. Keeping a hold on Erik would have hindered his escape, and would have risked re-exposing all he had worked so hard to hide over the past years.

Maintaining his status as ‘human’ whilst hiding his mutant identity was priority number one, and as a result, it was then that he changed his identity again, and disappeared back into the world once more. So Shaw had let Erik go, never to see him again. Not knowing whether his creation lived or died. For someone who delighted in control, it had given him an uneasy feeling to not know the end of that particular story. ****

**-O-o-O-**

 **-o-o-O-o-o-**

 **-O-o-O-**

“I don’t require his forgiveness,” Emma said looking away then gazing down at her hands. Her nails were perfectly filed and painted a pale pink. Her hands were warm and soft, folded neatly in her lap. Xavier’s hands would be clinging to the chair, trying to keep himself steady as the CIA stole his mind, day after day. _I do not deserve his forgiveness._

“That is fortunate,” Shaw replied, shaking his paper out and crossing his legs in a leisurely way.

“Because you are unlikely to receive it. It is your fault after all **,** Emma, that he is there at all.” ****

Emma held the disgust from her face by sheer force of will. She couldn’t imagine how she had ever admired this man before her, or wanted to please him, all she had ever known all her life was fear. Fear of the world, fear of the CIA, fear of Sebastian Shaw, and the day Shaw had taken her away from captivity had been the happiest day of her life.

The years had not allowed that happiness to live. As the time moved forward, her conscience had caught up with her, and her dreams were growing darker. She was running away from something new now, something with swifter feet. She wouldn’t wait to know what the world had in store for her next; her fear and shame couldn’t allow her to remain still. She needed to take control.  

 **-O-o-O-**

 **-o-o-O-o-o-**

 **-O-o-O-**

By 1956 Shaw had arrived in England, and more specifically, Oxford. The quaint city amused him for a time, but he was there on business. Prior to his arrival he had made the acquaintance of a young girl, all blonde hair and innocent faced. Her name was Emma Frost. She had been tracked by the CIA, located without Shaw’s knowledge and intended for something called the ‘Cerebro Project’. Having been out of the CIA loop for some time, it took a while for Shaw to realise that they were finally scaling up their mutant tracking programme and thinking bigger. It was about time. Finally they intended to use mutants to find other mutants, and with the arrival of Emma, they finally had a way. It was ingenious.

Shaw liked Emma; she was young and impressionable and didn’t shy away from his ideas about the dominance of mutant kind. She had no lingering loyalty to humans, since she had been treated unkindly and was glad to have finally found a home with others like herself. Feeling validated by Shaw, she was prepared to follow him wherever he might like to lead her. He made her feel safe and useful, and when he told her that he had a use for her, she readily agreed. She wanted to please him, like a child might seek to please a parent.

This only left one problem. The CIA were now short a telepath, and since they had struggled to find this one, they were not going to let her go without a fight. Emma disliked the Cerebro machine to the point of terror, it was heavy and it frightened her. The people that she saw inside it moved too quickly, and made her feel ill, not wanting her attention in their minds. Often she shifted into her diamond form whilst inside it, to shield herself and take a break. The CIA wanted to push her, but Emma wouldn’t be pushed. She fought them every step of the way, and reminded Shaw of the boy he had lost in Germany.

Eventually she located another like her, after making that her sole mission, being her only hope of escape. He was a telepath whose mind baffled her the first time she touched it, pulling her in and at the same time pushing her away. The coordinates were mapped, and Emma never explored the other mutant further. She didn’t want to see his face, or know his name. She didn’t want to believe that he was real. The mutant was going to be taking her place after all, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to live with the impending guilt.

The plan was set. Shaw left to find the mutant living in England, intending to swap him into Emma’s place, and initiate Emma into the Hellfire club in return. For a while, Shaw considered his options. The new telepath might also be useful to him, but he couldn’t have them both. The fact that Emma was a girl had more tactical advantages when it came to getting what Shaw wanted from those in power, and this ultimately swayed the argument, along with other considerations. Shaw’s deliberation didn’t go much deeper once he had decided. Plus her ability to shift into diamond form marked her as more useful than the young man.

However **,** Shaw had to admit that he was greatly interested in Charles Xavier. He had the kind of stride through life that only came from knowing you held a place within it. His mind was focused, and he loved what he studied, and enjoyed what he was. He didn’t even question the device Shaw wore around his head to keep his telepathic powers out, just accepted it at face value. There was nothing about Charles that rung of disappointment or anger at life; he simply accepted everything life threw at him. Charles’ smile was encouraging, and welcoming, and Shaw found himself intrigued. It seemed like a waste to give this young man up, but Shaw also knew that Charles Xavier would never view the world like he did.

Charles sold himself to the CIA willingly. He went as an agreeable slave, expecting so much, and not seeing what was truly around him. As far as most of the CIA operatives were concerned, Charles was coming to work on their project as a cooperative member of the team. Those directly involved in mutant testing were kept away from him, their minds shielded like Shaw’s, so nothing would be given away. At least, not until Charles was fully secured. Shaw supervised this from a distance, letting Xavier fill in the blanks with whatever he liked to believe.

His sister followed him, an unusual girl who was much more than she initially seemed. By the time Shaw discovered her abilities it was too late to keep her out of the CIA’s hands. But in the end that was the trade. Emma for Charles. And in the excitement of the CIA’s new telepath, Shaw was able to make Emma disappear.

It was only a few years later that Shaw realised what an error he had made. He had greatly underestimated Charles’ abilities, when he read reports on what Charles was capable of he was astounded. Often he would stand and watch the young man in Cerebro, behind the blacked out glass. The wires on the headgear lit up, the machine humming, the coordinate markers rushing back and forth. He knew he had made a mistake, when all the CIA staff started to require helmets of their own to block the telepath out. His powers grew so strong that he could have stopped the entire building, frozen them all where they stood had he chosen to. He had the ability to kill them all if he wanted to.

But it was too late to remove Charles from the mutant project. He was their greatest asset as well as their greatest liability. Besides, Cerebro worked for him like it was a part of him, something that had never happened with Emma. It had now been tweaked and evolved to fit him entirely, and they had not yet discovered any other telepaths to date. Charles was fundamental to the CIA, the integral part. The precarious operation would fall down without him. He was their greatest discovery.

So as it was, by 1962 Shaw was successfully manipulating the mutant registration agency to further his own ends **, s** kimming off the best of the mutants for his club, and letting the rest be dealt with by the CIA. Charles would never again be able to influence his own destiny; he was lost in the system. But the mutants that Charles found were Shaw’s by right. 

 


	4. Caught Somewhere Inbetween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has a dream, one that he has been revisiting for years. In that dream he can be close to Charles, and for a while that has been enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the faves and alerts everyone, and most especially for the reviews. I hope you will like this chapter just as much.
> 
> Super thank you to ClawfootTub for beta reading this chapter :D

Erik knew that he was dreaming. It was the same dream that he had experienced for almost five years. It was always comforting since he knew when he awoke he would feel a sense of completeness. Erik welcomed the dreams, because it was only when he was asleep, that he knew someone cared about him. But it had not always been a pleasant occurrence. At the beginning it had been confusing and strange to find himself continually returning to the same place, somewhere Erik had never seen with waking eyes. Erik had struggled to understand what was happening to him, then, after some time, stopped fighting and started to look around instead. Slowly he had found he could act within these dreams as if he was awake, consciously moving through the rooms to look at all the intricate objects within. But it was a long time before Erik heard _him_ , the dream’s architect; his voice shaking Erik to his very soul.

From what Erik had learnt over the years, the house was a real one, some place out in the real world. It was a huge sprawling building filled with beautiful things, but nothing which gave any clue to its location. Had there been any, Erik might have gone looking for the real thing, attempting to make the dreams last forever. But how he had happened to find himself in dream in the first place, Erik was still unsure.

This time, Erik came to consciousness on the landing, the soft carpet sank under his feet and the air around him was cold. There was a window open somewhere in the house and a draught was blowing across his skin. Strange little details such as these often made him forget that this wasn’t real, and often his head hurt with the effort to keep reminding himself that reality lay on the other side; that his eyes were not looking at patterned carpets, or wood-panelled walls, but closed tightly, some miles away.

Right now it was night time, the sky outside was dark and the lights were turning themselves on. Time and space meant very little here, it never seemed to follow any particular pattern. Around the next corner the sun might be blazing, or rain might be hammering at the windows. Erik walked until he reached a bedroom, and pushed the door open. Inside he found a room as familiar to him now, as any he had ever known. 

There was a photograph in here that Erik liked to see, it showed a young man wearing an academic black robe, and a square mortarboard, perched slightly crookedly upon his head. His brown hair was sticking out from underneath it in a way that made Erik want to push it back and into place. By his side was an even younger girl, smiling up at him, her dress covered with flowers, small heels on her feet. But the man’s gaze was always facing outwards and directly at Erik. Blue eyes followed Erik wherever he walked, set in a strikingly interesting face. Erik knew that this was the owner of this house, even if he looked barely more than a child in this photo. The happy smile on the graduate’s face often felt at odds with the melancholy feeling in the house. Erik would have given anything to know him.

“Charles? Are you here?” Erik asked, speaking the words aloud even though it was unnecessary. Unsurprisingly there was no reply, just a gentle push that told Erik to keep moving. 

Erik knew that this room was the young man’s bedroom, because in the wardrobe hung the graduation outfit, the square academic cap sitting alone on a shelf. A couple of suits, a dinner jacket, and some other abandoned clothes of a forgotten past surrounded the proud outfit like little clues into history. Erik wondered what had happened, why was this house so empty? But there were more mysteries than answers in here, and Erik had not found any explanations yet. Turning on his heel, Erik left the empty room, feeling the eyes in the photograph following him once more.

Now **,** walking back along the hallway, Erik felt as if he was being drawn somewhere. This was not an unusual occurrence, it happened every time he was dreaming. The young man was always in charge here, and his name was Charles Xavier. It sounded of money, but in such a surrounding, how could Erik imagine anything else? The name vibrated through Erik whenever he recalled it. When he’d first heard it, his heart had skipped a beat.

As Erik walked, he observed more photographs. The ones hanging on walls and displayed in elaborate frames always changed from dream to dream. They showed Erik all sorts of things from Charles’ past. Sometimes they showed the impossible too. Erik’s favourite pictures showed himself, standing with the young man in places that Erik had never been, nor could have possibly known about; a pub somewhere, either drinking pints of beer, or sitting together in the sunshine, fishing, or drinking coffee. Sometimes Erik saw pictures of the young blonde girl, older now, with a more grown up style of beauty. Her childish pigtails had become a river of blonde down her back. She’d grown tall, but her face was filled with unhappiness. It was the same haunted look in her eyes that Erik saw in the photos of Charles, and it was only in the photos of himself and Charles that he saw the other man smiling.

Although Erik liked to think that he now knew his way around the house, often things changed. Doors were sometimes open to him, and sometimes they were locked. Behind some doors Erik would find nothing but any empty room, and behind others he would see memories of times gone by. He lost count of how many times he’d watched a young boy walking around this house, a little blonde girl following him. Her movements were always lively and carefree, contrasting with the young Charles who was always solemn. These memories Erik did not mind being a witness to, but it was the memories that showed the children being frightened that Erik found hard to watch. He dreaded finding them, and behind every closed door there could be something waiting to hurt him. There was one particular memory that Erik witnessed often, of a young Charles running through the house. He had run past Erik, and Erik had hurried after him. Behind them both a man was shouting.

_“Charles! Where are you? Charles! You get back here right now!”_

The young boy fled into his father’s study, and climbed into a cupboard. The door snapped shut, concealing Charles inside the heavy piece of furniture. The man flew into the room seconds after, and stared around looking crazed. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he’d continued his search elsewhere. Erik didn’t know why he had been shown these things, but the disjointed and random nature of the memories, told Erik that Charles had no more control over what Erik saw than Erik did.

But no matter how hard Erik tried, there was always one door that he could not get behind. Not even by melting the metal on the lock. But he knew there was something inside that room that was unnatural. It was what was making this dream possible. It was not a pleasant sensation that Erik felt when he strayed too close to that room. He felt strangeness in his limbs, as if he was full of electricity and as if he was not in control of himself anymore. The only way he could explain this to himself, was that he had _become_ Charles, feeing what Charles felt, hearing what Charles heard.

When standing at that door, Erik would feel a small, but constant pain rushing through him in waves, setting his teeth on edge, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. It is accompanied by something tight around his head, heavy and cutting into his skin. It weighs him down, and he can only stand there for so long before he panics that he drowning. All the time there is a slight clacking sound, and a whirring of a machine noise. 

“Will you ever show me what is behind that door Charles?” Erik asked as he remembered the countless other times he had asked. Of course, like all the other times, there would be no reply.

As for Charles, Erik feels him everywhere. He is like the something in the corner of his eye always just in peripheral vision, but cannot be looked at directly. Strangely this did not disturb Erik; it felt right that Charles was an intangible spirit. Erik wasn’t even sure if he was actually real. Maybe it was all a part of his imaging, and he had been slowly going mad for the last five years? But Erik didn’t really believe that, how could he have imagined all of this? The complexity of these dreams went a long way in convincing him that they were real. Still his mind liked to throw these questions at him from time to time. Plus a small part of him had come to rely upon the belief that this Charles was out in the real world somewhere, and that thought in itself was enough to comfort Erik.

Every time Erik falls asleep he expects Charles to find him. But this is more than a dream; this is not something that fades away when he wakes, leaving him struggling to remember. Erik can recall all of Charles’ whispered words, all the strange conversations that they have had, all the games of chess that have been played. But it is the names and the places that Erik has been informed of that have helped him the most. When he wakes, he will know the faces of his next victims, will know where they are to be found. He will know about things he has never seen, and things he might have never known without Charles. But still, of his mysterious dream guardian, he will know no more. 

Erik’s life-goal, of finding and killing Sebastian Shaw had long since been revealed in these dreams. Charles pulled it from his mind long ago. He was not judgemental, nor did he seem to have an opinion on Erik’s motives or his determination, and in return Erik had been surprised when Charles had offered to help him. Erik had not thought much of the offer at the time; after all, what could Charles possibly do to help? So he had been surprised, when Charles began directing him all over the globe. Erik gave Charles names, and Charles gave Erik coordinates. Erik was now tracking down those who had wronged him during his youth, and Charles was turning a blind eye to what Erik chose to do with them. After the first few tip offs led to good results, Erik had begun following all of Charles’ leads. But the one he was waiting for took a long time in coming. Apparently, tracking Shaw was as difficult for Charles as it was for Erik, and Erik had no idea where Charles was getting his information. 

Erik had ended up no closer to Shaw than he had whilst working alone, but Charles had never promised anything, and often Erik feels that if he had been just a bit quicker, he would have caught Shaw many times. But Shaw always seemed to be one step a head, and every place in which Erik looked is empty. But when Charles has nothing to tell him, no clues or memories to share, he pays attention to Erik’s power instead. Charles is just as interested in Erik’s ability, to move metal, as everyone else Erik has ever shared his gift with. But unlike everyone else, his interest is different. He is interested in Erik as a whole being **;** he does not separate the gift from the man. 

He asks many questions, of which Erik often finds himself struggling to answer. He had never thought about his powers, or what else he might be able to achieve. His only experience with training was a painful frightening one, and any progress he has made since then has been accidental. But in order to appease Charles, and give something in return for all that Charles had given him, he agreed to ‘train’. Within the dream, moving metal was exactly how it was in reality, just as easy and just as difficult. At first he had little success, but Charles continued to encourage him, and slowly he started to teach Erik some form of emotional restraint. To balance many feelings until it pushed his power through every part of him, and until Erik was buzzing with it. One time Erik moved the satellite dish on the Xavier estate grounds, pulling it to face him, feeling Charles’ touch upon him as he struggled. It was not simply a dream, when Erik awoke he felt stronger, as if he might do anything. Metal moved for him now like it never had before, feeling like a part of him completely, and not just like a guest.

Right now, it seemed there would be no disturbing memories for Erik to watch, or training to be done. All there was right in this minute, was chess, and for Erik that was enough. The peace he felt just being with Charles could have kept him in the dream forever. 

“I understand your need for revenge Erik,” Charles said, from no obvious direction. It was as if the words just formed themselves into life in Erik’s head. “I feel it too. The need to repay wrongs.” 

“Who do you need to avenge Charles?” Erik asked, as he watched the white rook move two places and take an undefended pawn. It wasn’t an aggressive move, but Erik supposed Charles was trying to set him up for a bigger fall later. 

“Myself,” Charles replied as if his thoughts were far away. “My sister. So many others.” There was a long pause. “But I am not at liberty to do so today. It would be safer for all to stay enslaved. To remain as we are, compliant.” 

Erik paused. It was unlike Charles to reveal anything about himself, and Erik knew that if he enquired any further, Charles would change the subject. Erik played his move instead, sliding his bishop in to endanger the white king. He felt the tension within him **;** the need for Charles to keep talking made him nervous. He hardly dared to move. But it seemed that today Charles was in a talkative mood. 

“Erik, you said that you envied my childhood, but together our pasts make a very sorry tale,” Charles said, just as Erik expected he’d changed the subject, but at least he was still speaking. Charles’ king was no longer in peril, but Erik had missed the move. His eyes now scanned the board, and saw that Charles had hidden him behind other pieces, and now Erik’s bishop was in jeopardy. He decided to leave it unguarded, and start thinking bigger.               

“We have discussed my childhood many times Charles,” Erik replied, trying not to let his heart beat too quickly and betray his nerves. “Why return there again today?” 

Charles was silent. So Erik continued.

“You never return the trust and tell me about you,” Erik said, knowing he was either going to goad Charles into telling his more, or persuade him that he had said enough. He waited for Charles to take his bishop, but Charles moved his queen a few spaces instead. Erik couldn’t see Charles’ attack, but had to assume it was there and still hidden. 

“You think that I don’t trust you?” Charles asked. He sounded faintly hurt, as if the idea that he had not proved himself to Erik had not yet occurred to him. 

“Where are you right now? I know that you have lived in England, and that you studied at Oxford University some years ago. I know you have a sister who has blonde hair, blue eyes and looks nothing like you. I know you have a degree in genetics. I know you are knowledgeable about a great many things, a good deal more so than the average man. I know you must have powerful connections to find the information you have given to me. I know that you lived in this house. I know your childhood looked perfect from the outside, but was full of terror and loneliness. I know that you like to play chess. I know that you like to play tricks. But beyond that, I know nothing about you.” 

Again there was silence, and Erik wondered whether he might have gone to **o** far. Charles seemed to like secrecy, and it was the first time Erik had relayed what he had gleaned through detective work back to him.

“On the contrary, you know a great deal Erik,” Charles replied at length, he sounded impressed, but also a little surprised as if he hadn’t realised he was so worthy of Erik’s interest. “I regret that I cannot tell you more. But this is not the right time.”

Erik paused in moving his queen, and looked up at the empty chair before him. 

“So by that admission, there _will_ be a right time?” Erik asked.  As soon as his fingers left the piece, the white knight knocked his first bishop off the board. Erik suddenly saw Charles’ trap, and realised he was caught. 

“Tell me about your latest journey to find Shaw. Where are you now?” Charles asked, his voice steady again and the conversation back under his control, as was everything else. 

Erik frowned and reached into his pocket. He felt the silver Reichsmark coin under his fingers, leaping up out the depths to his command. Erik pulled his hand free, the coin followed without touching him, and then rested in his upturned hand. Erik stared at it for a moment. It felt the same here as it did when he was awake, and glinted in the light. He hated this coin. It stood for everything that was bad and wrong with the world and reminded him so continuously. When his resolve weakened, he held it and remembered. Those that had hurt him and his family needed to pay. 

“I am in America,” Erik replied vaguely. “But Shaw is not here anymore. Do you know…?” 

“No, I regret that I am unable to...direct you today.” 

Erik closed his hand, and the coin disappeared from view. As he suspected, Charles declared checkmate in three more moves, and before Erik could reply, he found he had woken. Sitting up sharply, he gazed around the dingy motel room, peering intently into the shadows. He was alone. Leaning back against the pillows, Erik jumped as a flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. There was a rumbled before thunder crashed overhead, and Erik realised that this was what had robbed him of Charles and brought him back into reality. He had no choice now but to wait for the storm to pass.             

               

           


	5. The Renfield Complex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles looks back over his time in Cerebro and realises how trapped he has become. He also locates someone vital to his plans for escape.

                Charles had felt Erik fading slightly as they spoke, so when he disappeared completely, Charles wasn’t surprised. Erik had woken up and left Charles behind. The loss of Erik reminded him sharply of how alone he was. But that was nothing new, the joy he felt being with Erik was always short lived and always ended too soon. Charles never really knew when he was going to see Erik next, it depended upon many different things, most of them outside of Charles’ control. But more recently, he had been able to keep Erik for longer. Due to extended use of Cerebro, Charles could now manipulate the machine into multiple uses, tracking other mutants whilst shielding Erik.

 

Hiding Erik was Charles’ first priority. Because of his need for Erik, Charles had evolved himself into the grand master of Cerebro. The machine functioned at his instruction now. He was no longer just providing the fuel and clinging on for the ride. Erik needed to be hidden from those who would seek to trap and use him, to keep him from living a life like Charles’. A prisoner, stuck in an endless cycle of misery, the only reprieve stolen from a sleeping man’s mind.  But it was not only his own experiences that made Charles desperate to keep Erik safe, but that what he learned from those around him.

 

Occasionally Charles received glimpses of his fellow mutants, also enslaved. He saw them as the captives perceived each other, or very rarely through the minds of guards and agents. What he saw was unpleasant. They were all suffering, some more than others. All caught together in a programme designed to torture them and destroy their spirit. Inside Cerebro Charles felt like the All Seeing Eye. He had a window to everyone, only, not everyone was as easy to see.

 

But when Charles wasn’t doing rebel reconnaissance, he worked for the CIA, in their mutant tracking and tagging division. Of course he hadn’t started off here; Charles had once been as free as Erik. Free to pursue a career and free to walk outside whenever he chose, but it now seemed too long ago to remember. However, being tricked by the CIA was not his biggest regret; it was overtaken by the shame of having allowed Raven to follow him. She had been swept along by his stupidity and eagerness. His naivety had caused them both to disappear from society and into the murky depths below. No one had come looking for them, since there was no one left on the outside that would have cared. It hurt Charles that Raven didn’t hate him, he felt that she ought to hate him, but she didn’t. She had stayed, for him, to keep him safe.

 

The embarrassment of his gullible past never left Charles. He didn’t know what kind of a man he would have been outside of these walls. If Sebastian Shaw had not come to him when he was young and impressionable, with an offer that was truly only to be had once in a lifetime, maybe he would have been happy? Maybe he wouldn’t. But in the dark and in the quiet, speculation was all that kept his mind alive. Sometimes his current state of being was only made bearable by imagination and dreaming.

               

But what Charles knew for certain was that the mutants he located in Cerebro were being harvested for their powers. They were ranked in usefulness to the government and then put under classifications. Charles knew he had been labelled too; he was classed as a potentially deadly mutant, of highest mutational powers **;** in a word, dangerous. He knew that if he ever stopped cooperating, the CIA’s policy was to make sure he surrendered **,** or failing that, eliminate him. It was not a comforting thought to know that others feared you, even if by rights, they had every reason to.

 

The mutants already on the CIA base had been there for a while. Although Charles used Cerebro constantly and every day, he did not always produce satisfactory co-ordinates to powerful mutants. This was intentional. Leading CIA agents to children who could turn the leaves of a certain type of tree blue, or could turn their head right around like an owl, kept the agents away from the truth. These mutants were of no use to them, and short-sightedly they were of no interest. It kept the illusion up that mutants were rare, and whilst that might be true for mutations such as his, Charles had fast realised that mutants were becoming the more dominant species.

 

But for the already captured mutants, life on the base was grim. They had been thrown into a testing programme, designed by someone with a complete lack of compassion and empathy, which used pain as a method of power progression. The CIA was pushing mutants to reach their potential, in order to amplify them and find the most useful weapons. Charles still remembered the tests they ran on him when he first arrived, and the ones designed for Raven.

 

From the moment he stepped in through the door, he had been directed towards Cerebro. Charles’ first sight of the machine still remained with him. It was not a pleasant experience. People were standing around him too close, all talking at once, all trying to smile at him and look casual. He had known something wasn’t right in that very moment, but escape now was impossible and in the chaos he lost sight of Raven. A young boy in a science lab coat was smiling at him; he was standing next to what looked like a contraption out of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The sight had terrified Charles, but there was no running away.

 

The next thing he remembered was most of the suited men leaving the room, the door locking behind them, and the young boy walking towards him.

               

“You don’t mind do you? I have to get the fit right.”

 

Charles had been measured, and then made to sit in a chair. The fact that this appeared to be like the same setup as an electric chair for execution didn’t go unnoticed. He’d tried to stand, but the boy’s surprisingly strong hands had pushed him back down.

 

_What are you doing? Get off me!_

 

“That is marvellous Mr Xavier,” the boy said, his eyes wide and impressed. “Now, see what you make of this!” ****

The boy’s innocent kind of enthusiasm seemed odd placed in this room. With his heart in his mouth, and trying not to betray his nerves by shaking in fear, Charles sat ramrod straight with the heavy helmet placed on his head. He fought against raising his hands and ripping it off, and tried to control his breathing. His eyes darted around the room, and he settled on watching the boy. He was the only one who had smiled in this room, the only one who seemed happy to be here. Charles didn’t know what was about to happen to him now, Shaw had been very vague about this machine, but he had made Charles want to experience it. Now that he was here, Charles thought he had been a little premature in trusting these people.

 

“Alright Mr Xavier, I’m going to flip the switch,” the boy said, his hand on a lever. “You just yell if you want me to turn it off.”

               

Charles did yell, but it wasn’t to tell the boy to stop the machine. It felt as if he’d just been injected with a whole bottle of scotch, and the instant happiness and also loss of control was astounding. Charles had never felt the true extent of his powers before; he’d never pushed himself so far and so fast. To be connected to so many minds all at once, and to still be conscious of himself, was as incredible as it was frightening. He could feel them all, humans and mutants, and there were so many. They stretched as far as he could see, all waiting for him to touch their minds. For a moment, Charles knew that he was as close to God as he could ever hope or wish to be, if such a God really existed. But someone was yelling, and he could not block out the noise.

 

“Oh, holy shit!” the boy was shouting, almost bouncing up and down on his heels, the curse flying from his mouth unchecked.

 

Charles opened his eyes, and saw that the young scientist was frantically trying to gather up the paper that was spewing out of the big machine, whilst darting looks back at Charles over his shoulder. After a moment of almost blind panic, in which Charles forgot to keep breathing, the boy pushed the lever back up and Cerebro returned to serenity. Charles remembered the pounding headache behind his eyes, and the nausea that suddenly sprung upon him, before passing out.

   

The boy was named Hank. He was the creator and keeper of Cerebro, but even he had not been expecting the machine to respond to Charles in the way it had. They had all been astonished on that day, and it was the beginning of a very fervent relationship between Charles and Cerebro, and also between Charles and Hank. Charles quickly discovered through the thoughts of others, that he was not the first mutant to be subjected to Cerebro, but that there had been a telepath before him, who he now succeeded. Charles learnt that her name was Emma Frost, but beyond that he knew nothing of what had happened to her. According to the CIA guards, Emma had managed to track a few mutants via the machine, but in the space of a few seconds, Charles had far outstripped her abilities. The reels of coordinates Hank had been alarmed at were not solely of mutants, but it was still impressive. With some practice, Charles would have no problems focusing on the search.

 

Following this, the CIA decided to keep Charles attached to Cerebro for extended amounts of time. The sessions gradually became more intense, until he could pinpoint mutants out of the mass of life around him. Charles spen **t** most of his first year at the base feeling as if he was living in a dream, the only time life made any real tangible sense was when Hank flipped the switch, and Charles was allowed to journey through the power of his own mind.

      

As for Raven, the CIA was greatly interested in her. Her ability to change her appearance was seized upon, and an aggressive training programme was established to help her take the appearance of other people, for longer periods of time. Once she mastered this, they started the distraction programme, having Raven hold her physical illusion under physical and mental anguish **: k** eeping her awake for days on end, forcing her to sit in a tiny cramped space without moving, or holding her under water until she felt herself lose consciousness.  This they didn’t put into force until they had successfully secured Charles into a routine, and only subjected Raven to pain when Charles was locked into Cerebro. After a few years, they began pushing Raven again, trying to evolve her mutation to allow her to take the appearance of animals. This kind of transformation, although logically possible, Raven found disturbing. Following a few attempts at being a dog, and finding herself momentarily trapped in the body of a Labrador, Raven had limited further success. Her power was limited by her fear of being unable to change back and being trapped as an animal forever. But still, they continued to push her, and Raven continued to try her best to please them.

 

This all continued for five more years. But it did not take five years for Charles to become completely dependant upon Cerebro. Due to this long-term exposure, and the continuous use of his powers, Charles had surpassed even his own expectations of what his power might be able to achieve. All the fears and worries about what he might be able to do had long since been brought into reality. But Charles also re-learnt the age-old saying, that nothing came for free, and with his new extended powers, there was a price to be paid. In return for feeling so strong, for being able to touch so many minds, he was becoming highly sensitive to emotions around him. He could feel people so acutely that it made it difficult for him to control his powers. It would only take a slip of concentration, and Charles could have the entire base falling to their knees in despair, or laughing until they could no longer breathe. He could make them jump out of windows to their death with only the mildest of suggestions. ****

It was because of this that he had been labelled dangerous. Something unbalanced and needing to be kept under lock and key. Charles was unable to disagree with them, but it was a lonely life. After this the CIA agents took to wearing metal bands around their heads, to keep Charles from accessing their thoughts. At first Hank invented these to help Charles function normally outside of Cerebro, to allow him some peace from the onslaught of emotions and thoughts he was subjected to from those around him. But now, the guards wore them to keep themselves safe. It was kind of ironic.  

               

The only one who didn’t seem afraid of him was Hank, whose thoughts were always very measured and usually always practical. He displayed no swings of emotions that disturbed Charles, or cared when Charles’ mind accidentally touched him. In this strange situation, where Charles felt as if he was losing all grip on reality, Hank was his only constant companion, and the only CIA operative that he could trust. 

 

“Hank, it is my opinion that Cerebro unlocks some portion of my power, that when I was younger I subconsciously hid away,” Charles remarked, one day after their session with Cerebro had come to its end.

 

Hank was about to remove the electrodes from Charles **’** head when Charles had spoke **n**. It was a rare event when Charles remembered that he could talk. Usually he used his powers to communicate with Hank, or just sat in silence. Hearing Charles’ voice reminded Hank that he was a person, below all the wires. Hank was a guilty as everyone else sometimes, and it was easy to forget that Charles wasn’t simply just another machine component. 

               

“It certainly seems likely **,** Charles,” Hank replied. “Maybe we can run some tests…”

 

“No tests **,** Hank,” Charles replied, his voice empty of emotion this time. “But I would like to explore this myself.”

 

“You want to keep it a secret?” Hank asked **,** surprised.

 

They had long since been rid of any onlookers here. Once an agent had seen Cerebro, they were in little hurry to return. Plus Hank insisted that the metal bands on their heads interfered with the machine, and no one was in a hurry to remove them. So, in a sense, Cerebro was the only safe place that Charles could talk, and Charles was keen to finally explore what he had been trying to ignore for a long time.

 

“My previous experience with telekinesis resulted in years of systematic beatings when I couldn’t reproduce the required results,” Charles explained calmly, pulling the last electrode from his head. It left a red dent in his skin, but there were no burn marks like there had been with Cerebro ‘generation one’.

 

“Oh, you mean your stepfather?” Hank enquired. He pushed Charles’ wheelchair towards where Charles stood, his legs supported by a board to lean against, and straps to stop him from falling over. Charles liked to alternate sitting and standing for Cerebro now, but it was almost too little too late. Years of inactivity had made him weak, and the machine used most of his energy. Walking was always too much to ask now.

 

“Yes,” Charles said, unbuckling his restraints and shakily stepping forward. He sank down into the chair looking exhausted. “Perhaps, with your permission, I might try to move some items … when I am next in Cerebro?”

 

“Of course, but I think it would be best if you got some rest now,” Hank said wheeling him to the door.

 

Charles knew that whatever happened in Cerebro, remained here. No one outside of this room knew anything about what passed. Hank kept Charles’ secrets, and in return Charles did not tell anyone that Hank was a mutant too. But outside of Cerebro, it was a different story. Charles struggled to recognise the world around him **:** it was here that life started to feel unreal and unnatural. He had spent so long in Cerebro, walking though the world like a ghost, touching other people’s minds and being free, that it was Cerebro that Charles considered normal. The rest of the world looked dull in comparison, and it was a struggle to be alive. His body was slow; it required feeding all the time which Charles found an arduous process. He had to sleep, which also seemed like a waste of time. He found himself torn between two of the only things he loved, Raven in the dull insipid world, and Erik in the bright and beautiful dream.

 

Charles knew he was losing his mind. It might be the only thing that saved him in the end. Then again, if he had to stay here forever, it might be better to be mad. He recognises in himself the clutches of Stockholm Syndrome, the willingness to comply with his captors **’** instructions, even at times trying to please them. He knows that it is wrong to track down fellow mutants for capture, but he was faced with little choice **.** Failure to comply would lead to being removed from Cerebro, and acts of rebellion in the past have seen him locked away for days on end. Like any addict, Charles had been desperate to return to his drug, and would have promised anything in those moments.

 

But he is not as mindless a drone as he would have them all think he is. Somewhere deep inside him is a plan that was hatched years ago. It was a selfless plan, one that will only work if the other chooses to help him. Charles would never attack the CIA for his own freedom; he does not think his life is that worthy. But for others? Yes there is revenge to be had, and for them, Charles would tear the place down brick by brick. Mind by mind. His escape is through Erik, and by helping Erik realise his own potential, Charles stops himself from falling completely into the CIA’s control.

 

He laughs sometimes, because Hank gave has labelled him with a condition, invented just for him. Hank called it the Renfield Complex, so named after the tortured character Mr **.** Renfield in the Bram Stoker novel [Dracula](http://www.literature.org/authors/stoker-bram/dracula/) **.** The unsuspecting man had been drawn in by the promise of power, of eternal life, and had returned a mad man, locked in an asylum. The comparison was frightening in its similarities. Only Hank said that Cerebro was Charles’ vampire, who sucked away at his energy, and Erik was the life. But Renfield had been killed by _his_ master, and Charles knew he was on his way to being destroyed by his also. He was fighting against the ticking clock of his destruction.

      

But as Charles was taken to his rooms by his minders, he reflected on something else that he had discovered today. The reason he had been unable to give Erik his full attention. Charles had found her at last, the one he had been looking for, for so long a time. He knew that Hank would keep her out of the reports, and not unscramble the coordinates for this mutant. Because this was Emma Frost, and she was the missing piece Charles had been searching for in this mess of a puzzle.


	6. Our Fellow Mutants In Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles reveals his plans to Raven, and she comes to realise just how desperate their situation really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thank yous to ClawfootTub for the excellent beta reading of this chapter :)

Raven knocked on the heavy metal door and waited **.** She didn’t know if she had been heard, but the occupants inside should have been expecting her. Or at least, one of them should’ve been;the young scientist named Hank at least kept an eye on the clock. Raven wasn’t sure if her brother took much notice of what was happening around him anymore, which sadly, was perhaps for the best. Charles didn’t have much to take notice of anyway; his life was built around a routine that was slowly becoming more intense and secluded. Despite the frightening nature of what the CIA wanted from her, Raven considered that at least she was able to go outside and could still see the sky. The only time Charles left the confines of his prison was when Raven intervened.  

Taking Charles away from his dependency upon Cerebro was becoming increasingly difficult, and as time progressed, it occurred to Raven that it actually hurt Charles to be away from the machine for any length of time. But although there were often moments that caused Charles a great deal of distress, he appreciated being reminded that life did not just exist within the confines of his mind’s reach. Charles always greeted Raven’s interruptions as if she was the most precious thing in the world **.** Maybe she was, after all **:** she was the only one who cared enough to take Charles outside of his four walls and remind him that he was alive. Without Raven, Charles’ life revolved around Cerebro, leaving it only to eat and sleep, constantly seeking for something within its ever-expanding depths. His only companions were the constant electrical humming and the ethereal friends he met in his extrasensory journeys around the world. 

The breeze that touched both their faces was crisp and chilled and left their cheeks flushed, washing away the months of indoor captivity. It held the promise of snow signalling the change in the season, which would have once been a cause of excitement. As children they had both enjoyed the winter months the most, it was the only time the Xavier mansion had seemed alive. Charles’ mother had been a big enthusiast for pre-Christmas parties and showing off her home, the invited guests interested in the two forgotten children as pretty little extensions of the elaborate decorations. 

Charles turned his face to meet the breeze, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, letting the cold air sting his lungs, awaking every part of his neglected body. Raven watched him with a sad smile on her face, as he pulled his scarf closer around his neck, his hands moving in their usual gentle and considered way. She continued to push him through the grounds until they reached his favourite tree, its leaves long since fallen. Charles opened his eyes once the motion of his chair had ceased, and looked up through the branches at the watery sunlight overhead. 

“I spoke to him again,” Charles said, a smile crossing his face, his expression far away and dreaming. “He was waiting for me. He’s always there, waiting for me.” 

Raven leant against the tree, and rested a foot on one of the huge roots at its base. She wondered how far the roots travelled, burying their way underground, all the way back to the CIA base behind them.  

“Is he still hunting for Sebastian Shaw?” Raven asked, her eyes constantly searching the horizon for spies, even when she was certain that they were alone. It was the only place that they were not watched, the only time when they could be themselves, and the only place that Charles would admit the reason for his increased attachment to the CIA machine. The day Charles had found that man in amongst so many, had been the day that Raven realised she had lost him. 

“Of course,” Charles replied assured. “He won’t stop looking until he finds him.” 

“And what happens then?” Raven asked, the topic of Erik Lehnsherr always making her nervous. It was if the man’s name alone held electricity that tingled in the air, sending a shiver down her spine. He’d hijacked her brother’s sanity, what else could he be capable of? 

“Then?” Charles asked, the smile slipping from his face as he realised he had let his thoughts run away from him. It would not do to waste a moment of this trip outside with Raven; it was too precious to waste imagining he was elsewhere with someone else. 

“When Erik finds Shaw? What happens?” Raven elaborated. She had an idea, from the very vague scraps of information Charles had told her in the past. She was certain that Charles’ feelings for this man were growing deeper and more complicated that just being a fleeting interest. 

“Shaw will die,” Charles replied as if that should have been obvious. “There is no other option.” 

“You can’t know that. You could be leading this man to _his_ death,” Raven warned. Charles knew many things, more than he should know. He saw things in that machine that he should never have seen, and felt things that he had no right to. But he did not know everything. He was blinded by the limits of Cerebro’s vision, overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of the universe around him. 

“Erik would be on this path whether I help him, or I don’t.” 

“He is using you,” Raven stated abruptly. Everyone else used Charles, what made this man any different? He wanted information that only Charles could give him, and the price he paid for it appeared to be very small. 

“No,” Charles replied. There was no trace of doubt in his mind, and Raven realised that her fears had been long since considered by Charles. “You are wrong Raven. I could send him everything he needs to know in an instant, but I do not. I seek him out. I draw him in. I want something in return from him, something he is not aware of. He will realise one day that I am the one using him.” 

“This is too dangerous Charles. Every time you contact this man, you are putting him in danger. Eventually the CIA will find him, and he’ll be a prisoner here, just like us. Just like all the others that you find. The suits will know that you have been lying to them, the CIA won’t forgive you.” 

“They need me,” Charles said. In the end this was the ultimate truth, the reason why when Charles wanted something within the CIA’s power to give, it was always granted. It was unfortunate that what Charles seemed to want these days went hand in hand with the CIA’s plans, which was more time with Cerebro. “There is no one else that can do what I do.” 

“That is a lonely prospect for you then Charles, to be the only one in the world,” Raven lamented. She did not meant to be cruel, but Charles was so close to falling into insanity, and ignoring the stark truth of the reality of their situation. They were alone.  All of them.  Mutants together, but kept segregated, linked only by this young man, whose voice would speak unbidden in their minds. Raven couldn’t blame Charles for seeking out a mutant who was prepared to welcome him. “You might be indispensable today, but they can kill Erik tomorrow.” 

“I will never give him away,” Charles declared decidedly. “You don’t understand Raven, the first time I found him… I felt… He’s like us Raven, strong.” 

“We are not that strong,” Raven replied. The wind was biting at her fingers, and numbing her face. Charles seemed not to be affected by the dropping temperature, as if he had long since parted with the feeling in his body, along with surrendering his legs.

“Your progression with your powers has been amazing Raven. Like my own. We are stronger than ever.”

“What do you mean _like your own_? What are you holding back from me Charles?” Raven asked with a lump of worry in her throat. It was not just the cold that had her shivering, the look on Charles’ face told her that he was about to share something extremely dangerous, and she was unsure whether she really wanted to know. Ignorance was safer after all.

“All this time, did you think I was an unequal player in this game? Cerebro belongs to me now Raven. When I say no one else can do what I do, I mean, Cerebro would never work for anyone but me.”

“You make it sound as if _Cerebro_ is alive,” Raven replied, the word sounding heavy and repellent on her tongue. It seemed the name of the machine also belonged to Charles, only sounding natural when he spoke it, and not the abomination that it really was.

“I can control it. I can see everything, find anyone, hear what they are thinking, change whatever I will. I can keep Erik safe, because I can hide him. I bury him deep in my mind, our conversations never reach the machine, and even if they did, I can scramble the readings,” Charles assured Raven with a sudden joyful animation he rarely showed over anything else. “Besides the only person who would ever find out is Hank, and Hank would never betray me.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because Hank is a prisoner too.”

Raven didn’t want to know what Charles meant by that, she already knew more than she could feel comfortable with. Charles’ revelation about the growth of his abilities with Cerebro was another cause for concern, but a warning now would be too late. She had missed all the signs, and realised she’d enforced ignorance on herself by refusing to see what Charles had become. His power could eclipse them all; no wonder the CIA base treated him like something dangerous and volatile. Charles could kill them all, if he got the chance.

Raven had never been afraid of her brother, but right now, he looked like a stranger. This place was killing them, but it would break them before it surrendered them to God, or whoever else was waiting on the other side. Charles might not have lost his mind, yet, but there was a tinge of madness in his eyes, a threat of a potential future. Raven wouldn’t be able to save him from it, she couldn’t even save herself, and madness was waiting. If she ran, she would have to leave him behind.

“Why haven’t you told me this before?” she demanded.

“You didn’t want to know before,” Charles replied in his annoying all-knowing way.

“And now I do?”

“Maybe not, but you have been thinking about us, and this place. You’ve always felt trapped. You’re considering running,” Charles said, his voice was emotionless, as if he was simply stating some facts. But it hit the mark painfully.

“I would never leave you behind,” Raven assured him. No matter how hard things became, or how much pain she had to suffer through, she knew she would never cope outside of these walls without Charles. The knowledge that she had abandoned him would destroy her faster had more excruciatingly than anything the CIA could inflict.

“I know. But you’ve still thought about it.”

“You’re reading my mind?” Raven challenged, hating to have given anything away.

“No, just your face.” _But it wouldn’t take much to see into your mind Raven; I keep you with me, always._     

Raven felt his presence like a memory from a lost time. It was comforting, and reminded her of happier childhood times, before life became full of misery, and before Charles’ life was altered with the death of his father and the arrival of the man who would torment them for years. Raven stepped forward and kissed Charles on the forehead, his skin was icy beneath her lips. She brushed her fingers through his hair affectionately and pulled his scarf up higher, so it covered his nose, protecting it from the cold.

“Come on, we’ll go to the end of the path and back. Tell me more about Erik,” Raven said, taking a hold of Charles’ chair once more and picking a subject she knew he would want to talk about. He hadn’t asked her about her latest mission, so Raven supposed he didn’t need to. He could have watched the whole thing from the eyes of a bystander. Besides, what could be said?

“Erik is like us in more ways than one. He is a mutant, but you have guessed correctly about that long ago. His affinity is with metal; he can manipulate it, making his mutant classification level of high value to the CIA. But he has been a victim before, a victim of others’ greed and mindless destruction.”

“What do you mean?”

“Erik was a prisoner of a Nazi concentration camp, his family died, and he survived,” Charles paused; he felt the surprise roll off of Raven’s mind. “During this time, some doctors thought to conduct experiments in the name of science, upon captive children. One of these doctors was Sebastian Shaw. You can imagine the rest Raven. Erik is looking for revenge against Shaw, and I will not stop him. In fact, I have been aiding him for years.”

“He inspires something in you,” Raven observed. She could tell that Charles admired this man, whomeverhe might be. She didn’t know how to feel about that. It spoke volumes on Charles’ state of mind. The brother she had once had would never have been aiding and abetting would **-** be murderers, but these were desperate times.   

“Erik is free, he has a purpose and a goal,” Charles explained. To him the answer was simple. Erik was kindred, a missing component to a life that was so far, incomplete. But it did not stop him lamenting a time when he would have shunned such aspirations. His current life had made him consider murder a necessity for freedom.  “I want the same. Shaw must be stopped. I have searched for another way, but there is none. I have been moving Erik closer to Shaw, in the hope that he will come to realise he needs me.” 

Raven didn’t know what to say, her mind was in turmoil.

“You are helping Erik kill Shaw, in the vain hope that he might rescue us on his way?” Raven asked. “Charles that is insane. Have you told him?” 

“No.” 

“Why don’t you just ask him…” 

“No,” Charles replied again. “I will not ask him to put himself in danger. He must decide that on his own.” 

“So, what, Erik comes and save us, and we all go and kill Shaw together?” Raven asked, hearing the biting sarcasm in her voice. “What if he decides to go it alone?” 

“I can continue this much longer Raven, you know this. If Erik doesn’tcome for us, then Cerebro will defeat me. I’ll either collapse or I will die. Either way, this will end, and Erik will stop Shaw somehow, with or without me.” 

Raven felt sick. She had always hoped that Charles had been working on some sort of plan for escape. But this was crazy. To rest everything upon a man who had no obligation to help them was reckless. Was this the great rescue Charles had been prepared to lose his mind for? Spending hours wired into Cerebro, helping someone who might just turn their back on him? 

“I won’t let you die Charles,” she said through gritted teeth. “They’ve taken everything else from me. They can’t have you **,** too.” 

“It has to end Raven, either way… I deserve what I have brought upon myself. I deserve to die here for what I have done to others.”

“Don’t say that Charles. Please, I can’t bear it,” Raven answered, her voice breaking. She sniffed loudly, fighting back her tears. It was too much to hear her fears spoken aloud.  

As Raven wheeled him back towards the main building, and towards more obvious captivity, Charles considered what Raven had failed to ask him. Why if he could control Cerebro did he continue to locate mutants for the CIA to capture? He couldn’t let it go unsaid, not now. 

“I need to tell you what I have been doing, because I feel I am running out of time,” Charles said, knowing Raven wanted silence. “You must have wondered. All those mutants brought here, captured like us, you must have wondered why I chose them?” 

Raven shook her head. She wasn’t ready to hear. She wanted to live in ignorance; it had always been easier not to ask. She wanted to pity them from afar. She didn’t want to think her brother had pointed them out for capture. 

“It wasn’t your fault. You had no choice.” 

“They were the strongest, the ones that could survive the years of experiments and torture. Some of them have been here for years. Suffering for years,” Charles explained. There was a strange kind of catharsis in laying his soul bare for Raven to see, after so long of anguishing alone. “But once they are here, I lose them. Sometimes I feel them within the base, for others, I sense nothing. It is as if some of them have simply disappeared.” 

“Why are you telling me this now?” Raven demanded, abruptly stopping and walking in front of him to see his face. “You can’t make me hate you Charles, whatever you say. What else could you have done?” 

“I could have fought them. I could have done something. Now I think it is too late. I can’t save them. I think only Erik can, because I think the mutants who have disappeared have been taken by Shaw.”

**Azazel**

Azazel still remembered the day he had heard the voice inside his mind, a calming presence that had heralded the start of a new life. Charles Xavier had chosen him from so many others, explaining that he was the strongest, and the one that could survive.  Azazel had not understood him, he had never felt very strong, and his very appearance had caused him to live a sheltered **,** hidden life. Even the prospect of being a pet of the CIA’s had not filled him with as much fear as it should have done, when it came with a promise of being around others like himself. Even being around people who were only interested in him for his abilities, was better than hiding, or so he thought. His appearance was hardly appealing, red skin and a forked tail; he knew exactly whom he resembled. His life had been blighted because nature had been cruel.

Currently he was being held within a continuous electrical field as the CIA studied him. There was no further sign of the man who had identified himself as Charles Xavier, and Azazel had come to the realisation that the man was not free or an equal of the people around him, but a pawn in a crooked game, just like _he_ was. He realised that Xavier had been trying to warn him of what awaited him, he’d given him the option of running, but Azazel had ignored him. He’d been given a choice, and it was fruitless to lament what could have been. A life continually on the run from the CIA, as well was hiding was no life at all, just another form of entrapment. 

The CIA could control the size of this field that held him, so that he could teleport from place to place, always within their control. When he hesitated or refused to move, they would pass an electrical shock through him, the pain of which never lessened with the frequency of the punishments. He feared the shocks, but it didn’t stop him from making a small stand wherever he could, it was the only thing that kept him from insanity. But as much as they were fascinated by the teleportation, they were usually more content to keep him contained within a small area, to study how he managed to scramble himself into so many pieces, spreading out into the atmosphere, before reassembling himself. 

Many slow motion films existed on file; all classified and in lockdown, studied over and over, secrets still to be revealed. It seemed that after two years, the CIA was no closer to discovering how he moved like he did, and Azazel was in no mood to confide in them. They had treated him like a caged animal, taking what they wanted from him without ever asking for his consent. As the time rolled by, his files grew bigger, until the CIA owned every part of him. To compliment their film collection, they had taken skin, hair and blood samples, labelled them and placed them in little glass vials. Everything was kept in a lab, frozen in tubes, or studied by scientists peering into microscopes. He knew as soon as they discovered what they wanted from him, his life would be surplus. He was a leak to be plugged. His life would be terminated.  

 **Gambit**  

In a small room away from the busy thoroughfare of the base, a few levels below the ground, a man was once again in solitary confinement. He was a recent addition to the CIA mutant collection, and was deemed too volatile and unstable to be allowed full access to his powers. The name he had chosen for himself was Gambit; his mutant ability was being able to charge objects with energy, changing them into dangerous explosive weapons.

He’d felt Xavier since, touch his mind as if checking that he was still nearby. Gambit realised that he had been waiting for the presence since arriving, hoping for proof that he hadn’t invented him. But Xavier had not spoken again; perhaps he was afraid of what reaction he would receive if he made his presence known. He was right to be wary, Gambit didn’t know what he would do if he ever heard that voice again. The telepath had a lot to answer for, if Gambit ever had the chance to ask his questions. 

But right now, there was no one to hear those questions. Gambit closed his eyes, there was nothing to look at in this room, and he wore garments fit only for a prisoner. They were a plain white colour, just like the walls in the room, making him feel as if he was a sectioned metal patient. Maybe he was? Maybe he wasn’t a mutant after all; maybe his life before had all just been a trick, or a dream? There was nothing here to confirm or deny his fears, nothing to look at, nothing to even help him remember he was alive. He wasn’t allowed to have anything to distract himself with, since everything could become a weapon in his hands. No chances could be taken until he was more docile. He wondered what the black suited operatives had in mind in order to change his attitude to their testing. Then again, if they left him in here long enough, he would eventually lose his mind.

 **Rogue**  

Rogue was crying, she hadn’t thought there were any tears left inside of her. Sometimes she wished she was dead, it would be better for them all if she could find the strength to cut her own wrists. She hadn’t eaten for two days, the last time she went on a hunger strike they forced the food into her, added extra calories into her drinks, and made her take tablets.  She stared at the plate in front of her through her tears. She didn’t deserve to eat, not when she was causing such pain to so many people, hurting them day after day. If she didn’t eat she would fade away, her powers would disappear, and she would finally escape this awful place. 

But she was terrified of being held down and forced food against her will **;** she couldn’t go through it again. Those heavy men sitting on her as the woman held her nose until she was forced to open her mouth for air. She never wanted to be held down again, never wanted to choke on mashed up food, never again wanted things added into her drinks. So with a shaking hand Rogue lifted her fork to her mouth and forced the slice of carrot into her mouth and chewed. Hunger was making her emotional, tired and weak. She was desperate to hear Charles’ voice, he was always full of comfort for her, the only one who understood her and didn’t judge. 

He was her only friend in this dark place, him and his beautiful blonde sister, who breezed through the base as if nothing could touch her. Rogue wasn’t allowed to meet the telepath, they did not want her touching him, but she had seen him in her mind. He always smiled at her kindly, and assured her that she was strong. But she was failing now, and she needed his presence. She needed to know that there would one day be an end to all of this, one that didn’t end with her own death. But he had been silent for sometime, and even his sister had disappeared. In their place the experiments had begun. She’d been moved to a new part of the building, with thicker walls, to contain the screams. Maybe Charles could not find his way through those walls after all; nothing could find its way out.

If only she could turn those powers upon herself, then these poor mutants who were so unfortunate to have powers that the CIA deemed as beneath their notice, would be tormented no more. They ought to hate her, it would have been easier to deal with if they did, but they simply surrendered to her. Their pitying looks made her ashamed.

 **Scott Summers and Storm**  

Scott Summers remembered being huddled together with the little girl. He had squeezed her tight to his chest as they were pushed through the corridors of the CIA base. All around them had been tall people all dressed in black, with harsh unyielding expressions on their faces. Their presence had blocked out any hope of escape. The little girl had been frightened and she had clung to him for dear life. Through his red tinted glasses, Scott had noted that her complexion had looked very dark, and her hair, which must have been almost white, appeared to him as vivid red. He remembered her looking up at him with tearful eyes, too terrified to make sense of what she saw. 

Suddenly and without warning the girl had been wrenched away from him. A door had been opened, and she’d been roughly thrown inside. Scott could still hear her screaming when he closed his eyes. It had been frightening, out of nowhere a sudden draught had appeared in the hallway that showed no sign of stopping, and had grown in strength as the girl had screamed. Then it had abruptly stopped as the door had hissed shut on its hydraulic hinges. Scott had soon realised that the force of the air, which had tried to knock them over, had been no accident. It had been caused by her, as she was a mutant just like he was. That was why they were here. It had to be the reason. He was bad, they both were, and they needed to be locked away. 

A man had laughed at the girl. 

“Did you feel that?” he had asked the others around him. “She’s a little storm!” 

The joke had appeared to be very funny to those around Scott. They’d laughed as they’d pushed him along, further down the hall to where another room had been waiting for him. Scott hadn’t tried to fight them, he’d wanted the door to close, and he’d wanted them to leave him on his own and for them to go away. He’d wanted to hear that voice again, the one that had told him to convince his brother to run away, the one that had said the black suited people would be coming for Sean. But the voice had not warned him that by sending his brother away, the men would come looking for him instead. 

Today he was to meet someone new, someone called Mr **.** Shaw, who had a present for him. This was an alarming prospect, as nothing good ever came from meeting anyone in this place. Everything was designed to frighten him and keep him in line. He had not even seen the little girl they had called Storm since he had arrived here. He wondered what had happened to he her, had she had a visit from Mr **.** Shaw too?


	7. Through The Dark I Will Guide You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik realises what the price is for Charles' help.

Erik knew he was dreaming when he felt solid ground beneath his feet and felt his lungs fill with air.  Usually this would be a sure way of knowing he was awake, but not when he was standing in Xavier’s home. No longer was he floating through the images of his sleeping mind. The building around him was as familiar as anything his real life had to offer him, even if he could never find his way here alone, not without the welcoming pull of Charles’ influence. Erik could feel Charles now; he knew that Charles was with him, his ghostly fingers brushing through his mind, whispering in his ear.

Without any opportunity to regain his bearings, Erik felt himself begin to walk **,** his footsteps softly muffled in the deep carpet, quickened with a sense of urgency. He knew that this time he had no opportunity to look around. He was close to waking up, his mind rising to the surface of the dream, breaking through into the real world. Charles’ voice called him on, _hurry Erik_ he pleaded, his voice sounding from everywhere at once, _hurry and find me_.

“I am hurrying **,** Charles,” Erik replied, turning the corner, and jogging towards the study, his hand reaching out for the door. As he turned the handle, the light in the study turned on, seeping out around the heavy wooden door into the hall.   

Erik felt his heart sink as he found the room empty. The Chair in which Charles normally sat as a hazy shape, was empty, the chess set on the table reset to start with the pieces all in their correct places. His hands itched to touch it; the familiar smoothness was as close as he could get to touching Charles. Closing his eyes, Erik tried to concentrate on the room, this place was just a projection, and if he wanted to see Charles then he needed to allow him in past his defences. He knew now he’d never really been trying before to see past Charles’ illusion. 

“I’ve been looking for someone for a very long time,” Charles said.

Erik opened his eyes slowly, looking in the direction of the voice. The leather chair behind the large writing desk had moved back slightly, as if someone had pulled it out to sit down. There was a slight haze in the air around the chair, but no Charles.

“Her name is Emma Frost. I had almost given up hope of finding her, but then she reached out to me.”

Erik walked towards the desk; his eyes had caught on a picture in an antique golden frame, facing out towards the room. The blonde woman looking back at Erik from behind the picture glass was not the usual blonde girl usually found in Xavier’s illusion, but an older woman, with a direct and piercing gaze. She had a kind of untrusting expression, as if the glass holding the picture in the frame wasn’t the only barrier between her and the world.

“Do you share this dream… this place… with others?” Erik asked, a twinge of jealously sparking in Erik, which he did not bother to conceal. He wanted to believe he was the only one Charles came looking for, the only one he called from their dreams.

“No. Never. For me, there is no one like you **,** Erik. You are the only one I want here… with me,” Charles replied softly, as if he was holding his breath.

Erik felt a shiver cross his skin, surprised by his unexpected jealousy. But what claims did Erik have over Charles, and the secrets he shared? He couldn’t call Charles to him; he was always the one who was waiting. 

“What is Emma Frost to me? I assume you are giving me a new shadow to chase?”

Erik placed his hands on the desk, looking at the book that lay open on Charles’ side. It was an atlas, open on America. As Erik stared, a glowing light began to shine on a particular coordinate. Erik had no doubt that he was being given another clue and direction for his journey, and was by now used to deciphering Charles’ cryptic ways.

“Emma is in America **.** Lucky for us, Erik, that you have recently crossed the Atlantic **.** But unlike you, Emma is not travelling towards some great destiny; she is running from someone who threatens her. I know you can guess Erik.”

“Sebastian Shaw,” Erik answered through gritted teeth. “I begin to wonder whether you have some interest in finding Shaw for yourself **,** Charles. Why wont you tell me the truth now, I’ve been patient long enough?”

Erik waited nervously. He could feel the room growing lighter, the morning sun threatening to pierce through the dream.

“You have never thought to ask before now Erik, you accepted my help without question.”

“So I was wrong to?” Erik asked feeling annoyed. He’d had enough of games.

“No,” Charles answered after a pause. “But maybe you’ll think the price is too high in the end…”

Erik sighed. Charles was exasperating, but the more annoyed he became, the more his heart ached. He was desperate to change this dreams for reality. He knew he needed Charles in his life, and this just wasn’t enough.

“Well I wont know unless you tell me, will I?” Erik reasoned. He leant forward slightly over the desk, imaging Charles to be sitting there in front of him. He wished he could look into his eyes and find the truth. He sounded nervous, and so very unlike himself.

“Shaw first led me into this life of captivity, and Emma Frost once sat in my place. I believe Emma will help us find Shaw, but only if _you_ ask... she will never trust me. ”

Erik frowned. He wished Charles would just get to the point.

“So what is the price? Do you want Shaw dead too, is there something else?”

“The value of my information is for you to decide, Erik.”

Erik shook his head, exasperated. How could he continue without knowing the truth? Without knowing what was happing to Charles he could go no further. He did not believe in consequences. Charles wanted something from him… but Charles would not ask. Now Erik knew…

Charles wanted to be free.

“This is not a normal dream… You are not a normal man. What is behind the locked doors Charles?” Erik asked. “If you don’t tell me, I _will_ find out for myself.”

“I think you know what is behind them **,** Erik,” Charles replied, just as breathlessly as before. He was desperate not to say the wrong thing, Erik was right; they had been walking towards this point for years. Erik was going to come and find him. Erik would save him.

“Yes,” Erik answered suddenly seeing what he had been blind to. “ _You_ are behind them.”

He backed away slowly watching as the little light on the map blinked brighter at him with every step. Emma Frost needed to be found, she was the strongest link to a recent sighting of Shaw, and once again Erik was beholden to Charles. So many mysteries were left unanswered, and it was true what Charles had said, Erik had never before thought to ask such questions. He was a selfish person, he had to be, in order to survive in the world, and he would be selfish once more. He would not wait until Charles explained all that he was keeping back. He would find the answers for himself.

Hurrying along the hallway, dodging the streams of light that were now appearing through cracks in the mansions **’** walls, Erik ran towards the only room in the house he was not permitted access. He knew with such certainly that if he could only get behind that door, then he would be able to see Charles, touch him, see those bright blue eyes look up at him for the first time. But as he reached for the door, the floor beneath him shook, flinging him from his feet and slamming him into the wall. Erik sat stunned, watching as the house around him started to crumble, falling away piece by piece until there was nothing left. Erik began to fall, his arms reached up for purchase; terrified of what would happen when he reached the end of his fall. But it was not just his own terror that he felt within his heart. Charles was frightened, in pain and calling his name.

_Erik! Where are you?_

“Charles!” Erik called as he awoke abruptly, his heart hammering, the most excruciating pain pulsing through his head.

-O-o-O-

-o-o-O-o-o-

-O-o-O-

Charles couldn’t see.  The blinding pain in his head had caused his vision to become white and endless in its nothingness. Every nerve ending in his body seemed to be on fire, burning in sudden shock. He could feel his body twitching, collapsing beneath him, and reacting with shock. Deep down he knew that to still feel pain meant that he still lived. That eventually his nerves would realise that they had been fooled, and that their connections still held true. His head had not really been severed from his spinal column, but until his brain knew this, he only scream in pain and wait for the darkness to engulf him.

Hank tried to combat Charles’ fighting hands as he unbuckled him from the machine and pulled him roughly to the floor. Hank’s hands were shaking in panic as Charles’ body began jerking in unnatural ways, the pain he was feeling making him scream and lash out wildly. Hank held him down with a knee to Charles’ chest, knowing he was adding to his friend’s terror, and pulled the electrodes from his head, violently ripping them away, leaving angry red marks in their wake.

Hank prayed as he worked, begging any God that might choose to listen, to help him. He had been frightened when the lights had begun flickering. Any surge in electricity could mean Cerebro malfunctioning, and no matter how many safety precautions he installed, there was always going to be a risk. The fact remained that if the power surged, Cerebro would conduct electricity like an electric chair for execution, and Charles could die.

The machine had survived the initial power shortage, but when people outside of their small sanctuary started shouting in alarm, Hank had known that they were still in danger. The only thing to do was initiate the shut down for Cerebro and pull Charles out, but even that had become impossible. A shut down, even an emergency one, would take precious seconds that they did not have.

Hank felt sick with fear. But his stuttering heart almost stopped when Charles grew silent, screaming had meant Charles was alive, but silence… Hank checked Charles’ pulse with a clammy hand, his fingers sliding around Charles’ trachea searching for a beat. After a frightening and fumbling moment, Hank felt the slight fluttering of Charles’ life and felt as if his own heart had only just restarted too. He had never pulled Charles from Cerebro so violently before, and had given him only fifty **-** fifty odds of surviving. Now that the moment had passed, Hank realised just how close they had been to a disaster. 

Charles had survived, but in the eerie glow of the emergency lighting, he looked far from alive. Hank felt himself growing faint, crawling away from Charles he grabbed his radio and tried calling for help, all the while fighting the urge to retch.

-O-o-O-

-o-o-O-o-o-

-O-o-O-

Raven was nervous. One of the captured mutants had escaped his confinement **.** His name was Gambit and he had made it his mission to explode as many parts of the building as he could on his way out. In doing so **,** he had shorted-circuited the base, starting with the lighting system, before blowing out the power generators and the power-grid that Cerebro had been connected to. Raven had reacted to the power shortage with great alarm, finding the nearest agent and demanding to be allowed to see Charles. Her hysteria grew to such a point that she wasn’t prevented for long.  ****

Seeing the medics attending to her brother while he lay unmoving on the floor, and watching Hank rock back and forth in his collapsed state, had shocked her into silence. She’d pushed one of the medics out of the way, dropped to her knees with her hand outstretched to touch Charles. Seconds later she screamed, as Charles sat bold upright startling them all.

 _Erik!_ She heard him call within her mind. 

Raven and Charles sat together now, along with Jason Wyngarde in their sterile dining room, whilst the base was being brought back under control.Charles could tell that no matter how many times he reassured Raven that he was OK, she was not going to believe him. He supposed she had good cause not to trust him, having caught sight of himself in the back of a spoon. Charles knew he was pale usually, but now he looked close to death, with electric burn marks across his forehead and dark circles under his eyes. He was a mess, his reflection a living skeleton. He could even see pity in Jason’s eyes when he looked his way, and that was a very rare thing.

To appease Raven, Charles obediently ate the food that had been placed before him, his arms aching with the effort of lifting the fork to his mouth.

“He could have killed you!” Raven suddenly exclaimed slamming her hand on the table, breaking the silence.

“He wasn’t to know **,** Raven,” Charles replied calmly. He had been preparing himself for this wave of anger, after Raven had satisfied herself that Charles wasn’t about to suddenly die, and her anxiety could be directed elsewhere.  

“He took no one with him you know, just got himself out. So selfish!”

“What was he supposed to do? Jog around the base and ask if anyone else wanted to go for a jolly?” Jason asked, looking slightly amused by the whole situation. “We have the most freedom here, Raven, and we have never found an opportunity for escaping with more than just ourselves.”

Raven looked away. It always caused tension between them when Raven was reminded she could disappear if she wanted to, but that Charles would be stuck here forever.  She would never leave without him, and so the topic only ever ended in argument and misery.

“You’ll be given a reprieve from that horrid machine **,** I guess,” Raven said, looking for something good within the mess. “For a few days, whilst Hank fixes it. I wish he would just break it into pieces and burn it. I hate Cerebro and I don’t care what you say about it, Charles, it is bad, and it hurts you.”

“I know, Raven. But sometimes, being inside that world is the only time I get any peace. It is torturous being so close to your mind, and having to stop myself from becoming a part of you. Cerebro gives me more control.”

“It gives you nothing, Charles, except for making you crazy. What was it last time, telekinesis? You really think you can move things with your mind? Can’t you see what it is doing? You can’t escape the dreams you are creating within it…” Raven knew she was being unnecessarily harsh, but she wanted to take her frustration with him out on someone, and it was too easy to let it spill over.

“I am not crazy,” Charles argued, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Raven scowled at him, then realised he was unconsciously pulling at her mind.

“Stop it,” she warned. “I don’t like you messing inside of my head Charles, you know this,” Raven warned. It had never really been a problem when she was younger, but with Charles growing increasingly unstable, it made her uncomfortable. Charles was clearly no longer in control, not matter what he said.

“Yes. I know **,** Raven,” Charles said with a sad sigh, as if this warning had been issued a lot.

Raven fixed him with a pitying stare, the guilt at being so harsh welling up inside her.

“Please just eat your dinner **,** Charles,” Raven said, her voice caring, like that of a mother speaking to a small child. “And I’m sorry. I know, asking you to stop is like asking you not to breathe.”

Charles looked down at his plate, but he was lost. His hands moved, bringing food to his lips, but his mind was unable to fight the draw any longer. The memory on the surface of Raven’s mind was calling his name. His sister, a child again ran with swift bare feet, carrying her over the green grass of the lawn, her white dress swinging around her ankles. 

“Charles, hurry!” she shouted, disappearing behind a large tree, its branches stretching out far above them, casting a shadow around the base.

Charles ran after her, his young self, full of energy, brimming with a life full of potential and so much eagerness. There was laughter in his chest and brightness in his soul. As he reached the tree, his breath short and his eyes bright, he found Raven sitting in their secret place, busy playing with the dolls in her hands, her blonde head bowed over them as she set them in their places. Raven looked up at him and smiled, her face perfect, cheeks flushed.

Charles sat beside her and they unpacked the basket they had brought with them from the house, pulling out cakes and sandwiches.

“Miss Bow needs cake too Charles,” Raven instructed, placing a small china dolls-plate in front of the doll with the big pink bow on her dress.

The little girl reached out and touched his arm, but it was a grown woman who spoke.

“Charles, you need to go to bed,” she said, the image fading and the present day Raven looked at him with tears in her eyes.

Charles didn’t know how he had managed to arrive in his room, with Raven gently encouraging him to rest. He knew she had seen the memory he had been reliving, and he had caused these fresh tears in her eyes be recalling it now.

“Please rest. I need you back Charles, as you were. I need you to be the brother who bought me my first birthday present, and loved me enough to always keep me safe. Please come back to me. I can’t do this alone.”

 


	8. He’s a Real Life Wizard of Oz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Emma have a showdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to ClawfootTub for once again reading through this and correcting the mistakes!

Erik travelled through the light of the day and the dark of the night, driving until his eyes hurt with tiredness and his head throbbed from the lack of sleep. But he would not allow himself to rest, every moment where he was not travelling towards Emma and closer to Shaw was a moment lost. As he drove through town after town, crossing state lines, Erik could feel Charles’ presence with him like a quiet conscience, waiting for him to call upon his help. As Erik drove closer to where Charles had last located Emma, the company of Charles grew ever more stronger, as if Erik could feel him sitting beside him in the car, his eyes always watching his face.

“We’re almost there now Charles, you’ll see. Almost there.”

It was in a Texas diner that Erik finally tracked down Emma Frost.  It was late in the evening, and the diner was busy, filled with people eating a late dinner, the bell ringing with orders ready in the kitchen, the waitress hurrying back and forth, her hands laden with tray after tray of drinks, burgers and chips. Erik pulled up outside, parking under a broken streetlight, and watching the blonde woman from a safe distance. Even surrounded by such a cheap and garish place, Emma Frost was elegant and looked about her in a regal fashion. She was seated by the window, in a booth on her own, and didn’t look up as Erik crossed the car park, nor did she raise her head as he opened the door to the diner. She waited until he was seconds away from reaching her, to flick her cold eyes on him, and sending him reeling in agony.

Erik clamped his hands over his head; the sound ringing in his ears was screams and nails being dragged down metal.  Dropping to his knees and alarming the people around him, Erik looked up at her face; she stared down at him indifferent to his pain.  Her face was impassive, as his crumpled with agony. Suddenly Erik was back in the Xavier mansion, his feet unsteady, standing in the hallway, caught between everything. Emma stood at the end of the hall, still looking at him like she might look at something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Emma began to laugh, a harsh sound in the place that had always been only Erik’s, his and Charles’. Emma couldn’t be here, he wouldn’t let her, he had to get near her, and push her out. As he walked forward he felt as he was on a ship, listing to side to side, pushing against the walls to keep upright. Emma did not move, just watched his advancement. Suddenly a door flung inward, hitting the wall with crash, the ferocity of the action made Emma flinch, and Erik realised she hadn’t caused the door to open. 

“Charles?” Erik called feeling frantic. His heart had soared with the hope of Charles being near him, but it was tainted with the dread of something bad happening to hurt him.

“Oh, Charles! Yes, where are you?” Emma mocked, although she was smirking, there was touch of hysteria in her voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Erik staggered towards the open room, almost falling through the swinging door and landing heavily upon the floor. Emma was tearing him apart, piece-by-piece. He knew she was going to make his mind explode unless he fought her. The pressure behind his eyes was too much, and he was sure his heart was turning cold and icy, ready to crack and shatter.

“You feel it too, Erik? The pain?” Emma demanded gliding into the room after him. “Ever since he touched my mind, all I can feel is this pain!”

She screamed, as if she was in just as much pain as he was. Erik cowered on the floor, sure that she was ripping the flesh from his bones, and just when he knew he could last no longer, and that he was about to die, he felt tender hands touch the side of his face, cradling his head gently as a kiss was placed on his forehead. Erik opened his eyes to find himself still on his knees in the diner; the whole experience having lasted no more than a second. Time had been frozen, and the people around them remained alert and anxious, but no one had run. 

Confused and surprised by Erik’s sudden recovery, and alarmed at being suddenly thrown from her purchase in his mind, Emma stood. Her pose was menacing, and as she stepped out towards Erik, her body changed. What had been soft skin became cold hard diamond, sparkling like ice under the glare of the artificial lights. The spectators who had been alarmed before suddenly became en-mass hysterical, pushing one another to get to the exit. They ran with the instinctive fear a herd of animals had when they sensed a predator in their midst.

Erik carefully got to his feet and stood over her. She was still diamond, and there was a defiant look on her face. ****

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” he said, holding the metal steady and tight around her. “But that doesn’t mean I will not.”

Emma continued to look up at him, obviously weighing up her options, then shook away her diamond form. Her long limbs turned soft and warm once more, flushed red above where the metal was cutting into her skin, and bloodlessly pale below. As Erik saw the blood start to run down her arms he let her go, watching her sigh as she rested back against one of the many chairs Erik had thrown towards her. He refused to regret the damage he had caused her. She had tried to kill him, after all. 

“You are strong,” Emma remarked, looking down at her damaged arms. Her indifference seemed to extend to herself, the lack of emotion was extremely difficult to read, and it was clear that she did not trust him at all. “I have been waiting for someone to find me. I knew he would send someone to me, I just didn’t know whether they would be friend or foe. There seemed little point in leaving town, when he would only track me down again.”

Erik assumed she was speaking again of Charles, and disliked the way she made him sound like the enemy.

“Shall we start again?” Erik asked gruffly, setting a chair back on its legs and sitting down. “My name is Erik Lehnsherr, and you are no doubt, Emma Frost.”

Erik bent forward and held his hand out towards her. The metal around her started to slide away from where it crowded her, and as it rolled away she reached up for his offer of truce.

“Yes. He sent you, didn’t he?”

“Charles Xavier told me where I could find you,” Erik clarified.

“I don’t work for anyone,” Erik replied feeling slightly annoyed. He was no ones messenger boy, and she would do well to learn that.

“Well I disagree. Xavier sent you, and here you are. I would say, you are following orders,” she leant back in her chair and observed him. Erik changed positions and sat down opposite her, continually holding her gaze. “So, if you haven’t come to capture me and create yourself a little mutant army, then what have you come here for? And make sure you cut out the bullshit, you might be blocking me right now, but I can still spot a liar.” 

Erik had no intentions of lying.

“I want you to tell me where Sebastian Shaw is.”

Erik saw the flash of alarm in Emma’s eyes before she tried to hide it.

“What makes you think I know what you’re talking about? Oh, I know, because Charles Almighty said so, I suppose.” She smiled again, but said no more after the wires lying dead on the floor started to twitch.

“Charles told me he’d seen Shaw in your mind, so in the spirit of the rules you laid out, no bullshit.”

She folded her arms.

“And then? You’ll just leave? I don’t think so. There is more you want to know, but you just don’t know it yet. Charles has been keeping secrets from you, hasn’t he? You haven’t been able to figure it out… have you?”

Erik paused. He disliked her having the upper hand, and disliked the fact she seemed to know more about Charles than he did. But he couldn’t afford to let the opportunity to learn more pass him by because of his pride.

“You know what links Shaw to the CIA? Or what links him to Charles?” he asked, laying out his only certain guess.

“Certainly. Why do you think I’m running?” She replied, leaning back in her seat. “I could show you everything you know, if you got rid of him.” She tapped the side of her head.

They stared at each other for a while. Emma knowing that she had something Erik wanted, and Erik wondering what he was prepared to risk. Allowing her into his head again could all just be a ruse to finish the job she started and kill him. But what choice did he have? Walking out of here with nothing was his only other option.

“Fine. But if you kill me, Charles won’t be happy.”

“No, you’re right, he’d probably cry. Then when he’s calmed down he’ll send someone to kill me. It’s a risk Erik, take it or leave it.”

Erik felt her pulling at the memories of himself and Shaw, and seeing his intentions towards his old tormentor clearly. He felt her clawing through his conversations with Charles, and could hear Charles’ voice in his head, telling him stories of his past, and of his current life. Emma’s touch on his mind was nothing like Charles’ gentle caress. She was sharp and felt like bugs running over his skin, only on the wrong side of his skull. Erik raised his hands to cover his face, as he slumped forward resting his elbows on the table.

Slowly the memories Emma brought to the surface began to change into something different, and Erik began to drift through times past, which was not his own. Emma was speaking to him, her voice no longer so hostile.

“You’ve been speaking to Charles for a long time, longer than I’d imagined. I’m sorry I made light of your relationship, I didn’t realise…” she said. She reached forward and pulled Erik’s hands away from his eyes. “Look at me Erik.”

Erik opened his eyes slowly, the strange sensation in his head continued, but it was pushed aside by his astonishment. He was now sitting in front of a younger Emma Frost, tied down to a chair, tears streaming down her face, a heavy helmet-like device attached to her head. Her watery eyes were piercing, and Erik couldn’t look away. She was suffering from things he couldn’t see.

“I’ve always felt guilty for what I did to Charles Xavier. I realise now that if I do not help you, I’ll never make peace with myself, and I owe Charles so much. The price of my freedom from this chair of nightmares was his imprisonment. I betrayed him. I sought him out, and then I sold him. I’m so ashamed, and I‘ve feared him ever since.”

Erik wanted to free her from the machine that looked like an implement of torture, but she had said her freedom meant Charles’ capture and hesitated. She continued to look up at him with wide imploring eyes.

“Do you mean Charles took your place, in this… thing? Why? Where are you?” Erik demanded.

Emma blinked and then they were back in the diner. Her sudden departure from his mind left Erik feeling empty for a moment, before he remembered Charles, and his presence slowly flooded back in. He had the feeling that he was meant to just sit and listen now.


End file.
